Music For The Dying

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Ye who will help me in my dying pain,
  Speak not a word: let all your voices cease.
Let me but hear some soft harmonious strain,
  And I shall die at peace.

Music entrances, soothes, and grants relief
  From all below by which we are opprest;
I pray you, speak no word unto my grief,
  But lull it into rest.

Tired am I of all words, and tired of aught
  That may some falsehood from the ear conceal,
Desiring rather sounds which ask no thought,
  Which I need only feel:

A melody in whose delicious streams
  The soul may sink, and pass without a breath
From fevered fancies into quiet dreams,
  From dreaming into death.

© Robert Fuller Murray