Page:The Pickering Manuscript.djvu/3

Rh

I traveld thro' a Land of Men A Land of Men & Women too And heard & saw such dreadful things As cold Earth wanderers never knew

For there the Babe is born in joy That was begotten in dire woe Just as we Reap in joy the fruit Which we in bitter tears did Sow

And if the Babe is born a Boy He's given to a Woman Old Who nails him down upon a rock Catches his Shrieks in Cups of gold

She binds iron thorns around his head She pierces both his hands & feet She cuts his heart out at his side To make it feel both cold & heat

Her fingers number every Nerve Just as a Miser counts his gold She lives upon his Shrieks & cries And She grows young as he grows old