_Elect._ Hear then, O father, now
Our tearful griefs in turn;
From us thy children twain
The funeral wail ascends;
And we, as suppliants and as exiles too,
Find shelter at thy tomb.
What of all this is good, what void of ills? 330
Is not this now a woe invincible?
_Chor._ Yet, even yet, from evils such as these,
God, if He will, may bring more pleasant strains:
And for the dirge we utter by the tomb,
A pæan in the royal house may raise
Welcome to new-found friend.