Hark! She bids all her friends adieu (Oliver Holden)

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• (Posted 2015-11-12)  CPDL #37499:  MusicXML

Editor: Barry Johnston (submitted 2015-11-12).   Score information: Letter, 1 page, 89 kB   Copyright: Public Domain

Edition notes: Oval note edition. As written in 1797.

General Information

Title: Hark! She bids all her friends adieu
Subtitle: Dirge, Composed on the death of a young lady in Boston
Composer: Oliver Holden
Lyricist: Isaac Watts

Number of voices: 3vv   Voicing: STB

Genre: Sacred, Anthem   Meter: 88. 88. 88. 88. 88. 88

Language: English
Instruments: A cappella

Published: 1797

Description: Published in The Worcester Collection, Sixth Edition, 1797, pp. 137-139, for three voices: Treble-Tenor-Bass. Words mostly by Isaac Watts, 1706.

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Original text and translations

English text Holden's 1797 Text Hark! She bids all her friends adieu, Some angel calls her to the spheres; Our eyes the radiant saint pursue Through liquid telescopes of tears. And is the lovely, lovely shadow fled? The blooming wonders of her years So soon enshrined among the dead: She justly claims our pious tears. Farewell, bright soul, A short farewell Till we shall meet again above, In the sweet groves where pleasures dwell, And trees of life bear fruits of love.

Isaac Watts, 1706 1. Hark! She bids all her friends adieu; Some angel calls her to the spheres; Our eyes the radiant saint pursue Through liquid telescopes of tears. 2. Farewell, bright soul, a short farewell, Till we shall meet again above, In the sweet groves where pleasures dwell, And trees of life bear fruits of love: 3. There glory sits on every face; There friendship smiles in every eye; There shall our tongues relate the grace That led us homeward to the sky. 4. O'er all the names of Christ, our King, Shall our harmonious voices rove; Our hearts shall sound, from every string, The wonders of his bleeding love. 5. Come, sovereign Lord, dear Savior, come, Remove these separating days; Send thy bright wheels to fetch us home; That golden hour, how long it stays! 6. How long must we lie ling'ring here, While saints around us take their flight: Smiling they quit this dusky sphere, And mount the hills of heavenly light. 7. Sweet soul, we leave thee to thy rest; Enjoy thy Jesus and thy God, Till we, from bands of clay released, Spring out and climb the shining road. 8. While the dear dust she leaves behind Sleeps in thy bosom, sacred tomb! Soft be her bed, her slumbers kind, And all her dreams of joy to come! Isaac Watts, 1706, On the sudden death of Mrs. Mary Peacock