O Death! thou scourge most mighty, thou!
Must all to thy dread summons bow?
Oh, stay thy coming, shield thy dart!
In thee are all to share a part?

Wilt thou respect no dignity?
Must nobles and the peasantry
Be subject to thy great command?
Insatiate, cease to scourge the land!

Thou great destroyer of our life,
Hast thou no pity for the wife,
Or husband, brother, orphan, say?
Prolong for them another day.

Consumption, palsy, plague, and pain,
Are due attendants on thy train,
Before thee go—invite thee on,
To finish what they have begun.

O Death! when shall our labour cease,
And we from terror find release?
When shall we from thy pangs be free,
And death be lost in victory?