Leave, O my soul (Thomas Tomkins)
- Editor: Ross Jallo (submitted 2016-08-26). Score information: Letter, 19 pages, 347 kB Copyright: CPDL
- Edition notes: Original key and note values; editorial accidentals added. (For ease of use, the editorial accidentals in the organ part are not distinguished as such.)
Original text and translations
Leave, O my soul, this baser world below;
O leave this doleful dungeön of woe,
and soar aloft to that supernal rest
which maketh all the saints and angels blest:
Lo, there the Godhead's radiant throne,
like to ten thousand suns in one.
Lo, there thy Saviour dear in glory dight,
adored of all the powers of heaven bright.
Lo, there that head that bled with thorny wound
shines ever with celestial glory crowned;
that hand that held the scornful reed
makes all the fiends infernal dread.
That back and side that ran with bloody streams
daunt angels' eyes with their majestic beams.
Those feet, once fastened to the cursed tree,
trample on death and hell, in glorious glee.
Those lips, once drenched with gall, do make
with their dread doom the world to quake.
Behold those joys thou never canst behold,
those precious gates of pearls, those streets of gold,
those streams of life, those trees of Paradise
that never can be seen by mortal eyes:
And when thou seest this state divine,
think that it is, or shall be, thine.
See there the happy troops of purest sprights
that live above in endless true delights:
and see where once thy self must ranged be,
and look and long for immortality.
And now beforehand help to sing
Allelujahs to heaven's King.