Weary be Ye, My Mother
Weary Rest The Crimson Head
I Forgive your Perfections and
You Forgive My Imperfections
We Carrying The Cross To the
Very End We are Yoked to One
Cart Our Lives Run Parallel Now
I Will Lay  Me Down Beside Thee
My Precious Mother, Weak and Frail
As A Rain Lily in the Snow.