Vital spark of heav­en­ly flame,
Quit, O quit this mor­tal frame!
Trembling, hop­ing, lin­ger­ing fly­ing,
O the pain, the bliss of dy­ing!
Cease, fond na­ture, cease thy strife,
And let me lang­uish into life.

Hark! they whis­per; an­gels say,
Sister spir­it, come away!
What is this ab­sorbs me quite—
Steals my sens­es, shuts my sight,
Drowns my spir­it, draws my breath?
Tell me, my soul, can this be death?

The world re­cedes—it dis­ap­pears;
Heav’n op­ens on my eyes; my ears
With sounds ser­aph­ic ring!
Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly!
O grave! where is thy vic­to­ry!
O death! where is thy sting?