Heven, it es a riche ture
Heven, it es a riche ture.
Wele bies him that it may win!
Of mirthes ma than hert may think
And tha joys shall never blin.
Sinful man, bot thu thee mend
And forsak thin wikked sin,
Thu mon singe ay “wailaway!”
For comes thu never mare tharinne.
Wele bies him that it may win!
Of mirthes ma than hert may think
And tha joys shall never blin.
Sinful man, bot thu thee mend
And forsak thin wikked sin,
Thu mon singe ay “wailaway!”
For comes thu never mare tharinne.
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