How Do You Know But

Do What You Will This Life's A Fiction, And Is Made Up Of Contradiction.

When The Stars Threw Down Their Spears, And Watered Heaven With Their Tears, Did He Smile His Work To See? Did He Who Made The Lamb Make Thee?

But If At Church They Would Give Some Ale. And A Pleasant Fire Our Souls To Regale. We'd Sing And We'd Pray All The Live Long Day, Nor Ever Once From The Church To Stray.

When My Mother Died I Was Very Young, And My Father Sold Me While Yet My Tongue Could Scarcely Cry Weep Weep Weep Weep. So Your Chimneys I Sweep, And In Soot I Sleep.

Come O'er The Eastern Hills, And Let Our Winds Kiss Thy Perfumed Garments; Let Us Taste Thy Morn And Evening Breath; Scatter Thy Pearls Upon Our Love-sick Land That Mourns For Thee.