Oh solitude, the only joy I find,
You save me from this world so black and base.
For those that rule our land have been struck blind,
and on my native soil I have no place.
Now wrong is right and truth is giv'n no place,
So that I scarce know what I ought to do.
Oh God above grant mercy and all grace,
Or else I fear my birth one day I'll rue.
Unrighteous men now lord over the good,
The meek are trampled underneath their feet.
Upon their plots and schemes the ever brood,
And honest men with death and guile they greet.
Oh God above come visit them with fire,
And we'll give thanks with dance and voice and lyre.
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