When I shall trust my corpse to earth

When I shall trust my corpse to earth
And my soul to God’s keeping,
I ask to be laid as a bard
Away to my last sleeping.

Into my hand I want the lyre,
On head, leaves from laure’s arbor;
Let my new neighbors know at once
Who comes to their calm harbor.

I always holy held the lyre
And not a mere toy only:
So let it be mine ornament
In night long and place lonely.

Should we feel lonesome in the graves
And, maybe, for home too sick,
Then I shall sing a song for them
And cheer them up with music.

And should in your lives sluggishness
And sleep here overtake you:
I’ll rouse the dead and send them back,
And they shall come and wake you.