Not with fine gold for a payment, But with coin of sighs, But with rending of raiment And with weeping of eyes, But with shame of stricken faces And with strewing of dust, For the sin of stately places And lordship of lust; With voices of men made lowly, Made empty of song, O Lord God most holy, O God most strong, We reach out hands to reach thee Ere the wine-press be trod; We beseech thee, O Lord, we beseech thee, O Lord our God. NINTH ANTIPHONE In that hour thou shalt say to the night, Come down and cover us; To the cloud on thy left and thy right, Be thou spread over us; A snare shall be as thy mother, And a curse thy bride; Thou shalt put her away, and another Shall lie by thy side. Thou shalt neither rise up by day Nor lie down by night; Would God it were dark! thou shalt say; Would God it were light! And the sight of thine eyes shall be made As the burning of fire; And thy soul shall be sorely afraid For thy soul's desire. Ye whom your lords loved well, Putting silver and gold on you, The inevitable hell Shall surely take hold on you; Your gold shall be for a token, Your staff for a rod; With the breaking of bands ye are broken, Saith the Lord God. TENTH ANTIPHONE In our sorrow we said to the night, Fall down and cover us; To the darkness at left and at right, Be thou shed over us; We had breaking of spirit to mother And cursing to bride; And one was slain, and another Stood up at our side. We could not arise by day, Nor lie down by night; Thy sword was sharp in our way, Thy word in our sight; The delight of our eyelids was made As the burning of fire; And our souls became sorely afraid For our soul's desire. We whom the world loved well, Laying silver and gold on us, The kingdom of death and of hell Riseth up to take hold on us; Our gold is turned to a token, Our staff to a rod; Yet shalt thou bind them up that were broken, O Lord our God. A LAMENTATION I Who hath known the ways of time Or trodden behind his feet? There is no such man among men. For chance overcomes him, or crime Changes; for all things sweet In time wax bitter again. Who shall give sorrow enough, Or who the abundance of tears? Mine eyes are heavy with love And a sword gone thorough mine ears, A sound like a sword and fire, For pity, for great desire; Who shall ensure me thereof, Lest I die, being full of my fears?