Poor pilgrims unto death,
Poor insects of a day,
How dare we spend our breath
As if we lived for aye.
MARCH.
MARCH.
Man goeth to his long home.
WORDS TO STRANGE MUSIC.
1.
Poor pilgrims unto death,
Poor insects of a day,
How dare we spend our breath
As if we lived for aye.
MARCH.
Man goeth to his long home.
WORDS TO STRANGE MUSIC.
1.