Blake (William, English artist and poet), 1757-1828. Blake died singing.

"On the day of his death," writes Smith, who had his account from the widow, "he composed and uttered songs to his Maker, so sweetly to the ear of his Catherine, that when she stood to hear him, he, looking upon her most affectionately, said, 'My beloved! they are not mine. No! they are not mine!' He told her they would not be parted; he should always be about her to take care of her. A little before his death, Mrs. Blake asked where he would be buried, and whether a dissenting minister or a clergyman of the Church of England should read the service. To which he answered, that as far as his own feelings were concerned, she might bury him where she pleased. But that as father, mother, aunt and brother were buried in Bunhill Row, perhaps it would be better to lie there. As for service, he should wish for that of the Church of England.

"In that plain, back room, so dear to the memory of his friends, and to them beautiful from association with him—with his serene cheerful converse, his high personal influence, so spiritual and rare—he lay chanting Songs to Melodies, both the inspiration of the moment, but no longer as of old to be noted down. To the pious songs followed, about six in the summer evening, a calm and painless withdrawal of breath; the exact moment almost unperceived by his wife, who sat by his side. A humble female neighbor, her only other companion, said afterwards: 'I have been at the death, not of a man, but of a blessed angel.'"

Gilchrist's Life of William Blake.

"He said he was going to that country, he had all his life wished to see, and expressed himself happy, hoping for salvation through Jesus Christ. Just before he died his countenance became fair, his eyes brightened, and he burst out into singing of the things he saw in heaven. In truth he died like a saint, as a person who was standing by him observed."

From a letter written at the time of Blake's death