Indexes for The Sacred Harp, 1991 Edition

Vital spark of heav’nly flame
Quit, oh? quit this mortal frame;
Trembling, hoping, ling’ring, flying.
Oh, 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 soul, can this be death?

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