Fale don, up to our pride, we fail again
Stride fast! Gone throughout wind and cold held bare
Amidst round planes and crook’d temptations gain
Oh gospel teach us how with pride and prayer

For she, the wicked temptress lies in sleep
While we, the wicked yarns spun deeply ill
Aghast at her fine look, we trip and weep
At she, who drags the soaken mass downhill

We plead and sob, our faltered petals burnt
Our throats strung hoarse, for we are weak without
her kiss, ripped up from deep below the urn
Just as we are made finally devout

Oh celebrate my friends, we’re free once more
But only to be drawn back in her score