Indexes for The Sacred Harp, 1991 Edition

Thou art passing away,
Thy life has been brief as a midsummer day;
Thy forehead is pale, and thy pulses are low,
And thy once blooming cheek bears an ominous glow.

Thou art passing away from the beautiful earth,
Thy much loved abode, and the land of thy birth;
From its forests and fields, from its murmuring rills,
From its beautiful plains and its herbage-crowned hills.

Thou art passing away from thy kindred and friends,
And the last chain that bound thee, the spoiler now rends;
And thy last tones are falling on love’s list’ning ear,
And now in thine eye shines the fond, parting tear.