[4:30]

Mark how our shadow, Mark Movits mom frere

One small darkness encloses
How gold and purple that shovel there
To rags and rubbish disposes


Charon beckons from tumultuous waves
Then trice this ancient digger of graves

For thee ne'er grapeskin shall glister
Wherefore my Movits come help me to raise
A gravestone over our sister


Even desirous and modest adobe
Under the sighing branches

Where time and death, a marriage forebode
Twixt beauty and ugliness ashes


To thee ne'er jealousy findeth her way
Nor happiness footstep, swift to stray
Flitteth amid these barrows

E'en enmity armed, as thou seest this day
Piously breaketh her arrow


The little bell echoes the great bells groan
Robed in the door the precentor
Noisome with quiristers prayerful moan

Blesses those, who enter

The way to this templed city of tombs

Climbs amid roses yellowing blooms
Fragments of mouldering biers
Till black-clad each mourner,

His station $$#umes
Bows there deeply in tears