OH ! lead me where my Darling lies,
Cold as the Marble Stone;
I will recall her with my Cries,
And wake her with my Moan.

Come from thy Bed of Clay, my dear!
See! where thy Father stands;
His Soul he sheds out Tear by Tear,
And wrings his wretched Hands.

But ah! alas! thou canst not rise,
Alas! thou canst not hear,
Or, at thy tender Father's Cries,
Thou surely wouldst appear.

Since then my Love! my Soul's delight!
Thou canst not come to me,
Rather than want thy pleasing sight,
I'll dig my way to thee.