My prime of youth is but a frost of cares
My feast of joy is but a dish of pain
My crop of corn is but a field of tares
And all my good is but vain hope of gain
My life is fled, and yet I saw no sun
And now I live, and now my life is done.
My tale was heard, and yet it was not told
My fruit is fallen and yet my leaves are green
My youth is spent and yet I am not old
I saw the world and yet I was not seen
My thread is cut, and yet it was not spun
And now I live, and now my life is done.
I sought my death and found it in the womb
I looked for life and saw it was a shade
I trod the earth and knew it was my tomb
And now I die and now I was but made
My glass is full, and now my glass is run
And now I live, and yet my life is done.
My feast of joy is but a dish of pain
My crop of corn is but a field of tares
And all my good is but vain hope of gain
My life is fled, and yet I saw no sun
And now I live, and now my life is done.
My tale was heard, and yet it was not told
My fruit is fallen and yet my leaves are green
My youth is spent and yet I am not old
I saw the world and yet I was not seen
My thread is cut, and yet it was not spun
And now I live, and now my life is done.
I sought my death and found it in the womb
I looked for life and saw it was a shade
I trod the earth and knew it was my tomb
And now I die and now I was but made
My glass is full, and now my glass is run
And now I live, and yet my life is done.
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