Coronach, or Death-Wail
Charles Mackay
1814 to 1889
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Wail! Wail!
For a sun hath set,
Which no morrow
Shall ever call
From the darksome pail,
To beam upon our sorrow!
Moan! Moan!
O'er his lone,
As ye heap the clod above him:
Dead! Dead!
His soul hath fled
From the hearts that lived love him!
Wail! Wail!
Though our tears be vain,
the soul in glory shining!
Yet how can those
Who have seen his close
Forbear for awhile repining?
Moan! Moan!
O’er the narrow stone;
Body and must sever!
Dead! Dead!
His spirit hath fled.
And star hath set for ever!
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