Whate'er is born of mortal birth

    Must be consumèd with the earth，

    To rise from generation free：

    Then what have I to do with thee？

    The sexes sprung from shame and pride，

    Blow'd in the morn； in evening died；

    But Mercy chang'd death into sleep；

    The sexes rose to work and weep.

    Thou， Mother of my mortal part，

    With cruelty didst mould my heart，

    And with false self-deceiving tears

    Didst bind¹ my nostrils²， eyes， and ears；

    Didst close my tongue in senseless clay，

    And me to mortal life betray：

    The death of Jesus set me free：

    Then what have I to do with thee？

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