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
Blowed in the morn, in evening died;
But mercy changed 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 blind my nostrils, 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?