6
With thee I may no longer stay;
My God in death he was my guide,
O'er hell I'll get the victory.
Then up the hill the poor wife went,
Oppressed with stinking flames and fear
Weeping right sore with great relent,
For to go else she wist not where:
A narrow way with thorns and briers,
And full of mires was her before,
She sighed oft with sobs and tears,
The poor wife's heart was wondrous 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 climbed uр 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 hy'd with haste,
The flowers were fair, where that she stood
The fields were pleasant to her taste.
Then she espied Jerusalem,
On Sion's mount where that it stood
Shining with gold light as the sun,
Her silly soul was then right glad;
The ports were pearls shining bright,
Glorious it was for to behold,
With precious stones give such a light,
The walls were of transparent gold.
