Poor, sick I, days are very dark,
To undergo sickness,
And no comforts of life,
I hope to have comfort in heaven.
O how much better to go to house of mourning,
Than to go to house of plays and frolicking,
Sorrow is better than laughter,
By sadness of the countenance the heart is made better.
O how I love the Holy law,
'Tis daily my delight,