Whate'er is born of mortal birth
Must be consumed with the earth,
To rise from generation free:
Then what have I to do with thee?
The s**es sprung from shame and pride,
Blowed in the morn, in evening died;
But mercy changed d**h into sleep;
The s**es rose to work and weep.
Thou, mother of my mortal part,
With cruelty didst mould my heart,
And with false self-deceiving tears
Didst blind my nostrils, eyes, and ears,
Didst close my tongue in senseless clay,
And me to mortal life betray.
The d**h of Jesus set me free:
Then what have I to do with thee?