(adapted from a poem by John Dryden, 1687)
As from the pow'r of sacred lays, the spheres began to move
And sung the Prince of Darkness' praise, to all the Elect above
So when the last and dreadful hour, this crumbling pageant shall devour
The trumput will be heard on high
The dead shall live, the living die
And Music will untune the sky
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