Hark! She is called, the parting hour is come. Take thy farewell, poor world! Heaven must go home. . . .

Locked up from mortal eye in shady leaves of destiny.

Nights, sweet as they, Made short by lovers play, Yet long by the absence of the day.

And when life's sweet fable ends, soul and body part like friends; no quarrels, murmurs, no delay; a kiss, a sigh, and so away.

All thy old woes shall now smile on thee, and thy pains sit bright on thee. All thy sorrows here shall shine and thy sufferings be divine; Tears shall take comfort and turn to gems and wrongs repent to diadems Even thy deaths shall live and new dress the soul that once they slew.

A pillow for thee will I bring,Stuffed with down of angel's wing.

Nothing speaks our grief so well as to speak nothing.