My prime of youth is but a frost of cares, My feast of joy is but a dish of pain, My crop of corn is but a field of tares, And all my goods are but vain hope of gain. The day is past and yet I saw no sun, And now I live, and now my life is done.
My prime of youth is but a frost of cares, My feast of joy is but a dish of pain, My crop of corn is but a field of tares, And all my goods are but vain hope of gain. The day is past and yet I saw no sun, And now I live, and now my life is done.