O Sing unto my roundelay!
  O, drop the briny tear with me!
Dance no more at holiday;
  Like a running river be.
      My love is dead,
      Gone to his death-bed,
      All under the willow-tree.

Black his hair as the winter night,...

O God, whose thunder shakes the sky,
  Whose eye this atom globe surveys,
To thee, my only rock, I fly,
  Thy mercy in thy justice praise.

The mystic mazes of thy will,
  The shadows of celestial light,
Are past the power of human skill;...