THOU, the stern monarch of dismay,
Whom nature trembles to survey,
Oh Death! to me, the child of grief,
Thy welcome power would bring relief,
Changing to peaceful slumber many a care.
And though thy stroke may thrill with pain
Each throbbing pulse, each quivering vein;
The pangs that bid existence close,
Ah! sure are far less keen than those,
Which cloud its lingering moments with despair.