Songs of Sion Set for the ioy of gods deere ones, vvho sitt here by the brookes of this vvorlds Babel, & vveepe vvhen they thinke on Hierusalem vvhich is on highe. By W. L. [i.e. William Loe] |
 |
 | Songs of Sion |  |
The sixt depth.
1
Our bread vve gett vvith dread,It costs vs halfe our life
we vvaile in midst of vvoe, & waste
All night, all day in strife.
2
Our skin like to a MooreIs black for vvant of meate
Our parts are parcht to skin, and bone
Thy vvrath o lord is great.
3
Our maids they make a preyTo serue their minds, & lusts
Our vviues they vvronge in all our sights,
Yet lord thy hand is iust.
4
By hand our prince they hang,The old men they doe scorne
Our greete doth last till it be night,
And eke till it be morne.
4
They make our young ones grindAnd toyle like horse in mill.
Their backes they load vvith bath of vvood
Till that they doe them kill.
5
The old men sitt noe moreTo iudge the cause in gate
The young mē vvaile that vvont to sing
Oh vvhen vvill be our date
6
Our ioy of hart is goneOur daunce is turnd to moane
our minds doe muse of nought but vvoe
We sitt, & sighe, & grone.
| Songs of Sion | |