Morn for all no more, oh Lord;
On fall or torn but bored
What woe on all ere dawn
For lost on ground to mourn.

And sat was fair ground halt,
‘Tis time that flows like salt,
‘Tis time alone to make best,
In this world, at all fest.

I walk the world in heart,
I sing the echoes in hearth,
In the bliss of day bind
Mine heart in you to find.

Now enter a built entrance,
When Eve was in a trance
She could never believe
The words I ought to weave.

For You have always been,
Oh Lord, our mercy seen
Your bulk of beauty known,
Your sulk is mine beknown.

Category:
Mystical, Poetry, Works
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