To Tirzah

Whate'er is born of mortal birth

Must be consumed with the earth,

To rise from generation free:

Then what have I to do with thee?

The sexes sprang from shame and pride,

Blown 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 bind 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?