With sin as a flowing stream
Persistent in its ways
You have chosen me in those days.
Oh the things to be grasped
Only to end in fingers rasped.
Good words to those goodly given
Something simple from heaven.
What is this I speak of?
A flighty thing from above?
No, this is here on earth
To give man his worth
And make him ever new
Giving him things not his due.
See that life in strange decay
Going about things in a strange way.
Life is gone, new life now here:
Joyous death without tear.
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