Give ear to me ye sons of men,
Why stand ye gazing round my bed?
We all must die the Lord knows when,
And lie among the silent dead;
Tho’ now in health, you all may die,
And turn to dust as soon as I.

Rejoice ye mourners here below,
That she is gone to worlds above;
Yet mourn your loss in parting so,
For she is worthy of your love.
Rejoice with grief and mourn with joy,
While solemn thoughts your minds employ.

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