We let lust lure us
To beds beside Belthus
Making mountains murmur and
moan for pleasures
Fulfilling the flesh follies that fills
us

There , there trample on suitors
Creeping like crickets on sea shores
Lit little lamps and lead us
Through these things so , so
treacherous

Sunshine shearing our skin sores
As we walk and work the wild soils
All ail has ended mid- course
As Home! Home! Hauls the voice of
Jesus .