6
My God in death he was my Guide,
O'er hell I'll get the victory.
Then up the hill the poor wife went
Opprest with stinking flames and fear,
Weeping right sore with great relent,
For to go else she wist not where;
a narrow way with thorus and briers,
and full of mires was here before;
She sighed oft with sobs and tears.
The poor wife's heart was wond'rous sore;
Tired and torn she went on still,
Sometimes she sat and sometimes fell,
aye till she came to a high hill,
and then she looked back to hell.
When that she had climb'd up the hill,
Before her was a goodly plain;
Where she did rest and weep her fill,
Then rose and to her feet again.
Her heart was glad the way was good
Up to the hill she hied with haste,
The flowers were fair where there she stood,
The field were pleasant to her taste.
Then she espied Jerusalem,
On Zion's mount where that it stood:
Shining with gold light as the sun,
Her silly soul was then right glad;
The ports of pearls shining bright,
Were very glorious to behold,
