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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]
  
  

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The sixt depth.
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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 Moore
Is 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 prey
To 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 grind
And 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 more
To 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 gone
Our daunce is turnd to moane
our minds doe muse of nought but vvoe
We sitt, & sighe, & grone.