Three times a Year

That funeral hymn,
Ehcoing
Hymn so slow,
Consecrated under the
Shadows of a tomb,
Funeral hymn,
Played by heartstings,
On a red lyre,
While the old trees creak,
Fall leaves, cast upon
Gravestones whithered
By the wind and tears,
Shallow hymn,
By the sweat of the brow
Three holes dug,
I fell into one!
O' funeral hymn, steeped
In woe and regret,
Under the ground,
Enclosed in the soil,
Still I faintly hear,
That funeral hymn,
Three times a year.