Evil, be thou my good.
Hail holy light, offspring of heav'n firstborn!
Hope allows us to bid farewell to fear.
Such as the meeting soul may pierce, In notes with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out.
The stars, that nature hung in heaven, and filled their lamps with everlasting oil, give due light to the misled and lonely traveller.
Spirits that live throughout, Vital in every part, not as frail man, In entrails, heart or head, liver or reins, Cannot but by annihilating die.