Beggar That I Am, I Am Even

Open Thy Gate Of Mercy, Gracious God, My Soul Flies Through These Wounds To Seek Out Thee.

I Cannot Draw A Cart, Nor Eat Dried Oats; If It Be Man's Work, I'll Do't.

Love Runs Away From Those Chasing Her, And Those Who Run Away, She Throws Herself On His Neck.

She Is Your Treasure, She Must Have A Husband; I Must Dance Bare-foot On Her Wedding Day, And, For Your Love To Her, Lead Apes In Hell.

True Hope Is Swift, And Flies With Swallow's Wings.