Helen Maria Williams - Imitation of Lines lyrics

I. THE hour that calls to d**h is near, It brings to me no throb of fear; The breast that honour arms, can brave The murd'rer's steel, th' untimely grave; But thou, to whom I gave my heart, From thee for ever must I part? Wilt thou not hear my latest sigh?- Ah, 'tis a cruel task to die! II. To-morrow, my clos'd eyes no more Shall gaze on beauty I adore; To-morrow, sadd'ning every grace, Unceasing tears shall bathe thy face; To-morrow, chill'd by d**h's cold grasp, This hand no longer thine shall clasp; For thou-no more wilt thou be nigh- Ah, 'tis a cruel task to die!