Winter wakeneth all my care;

Leaves are few and branches bare;

Oft I sigh and mourn full sair,

When there cometh to my thought

All the world’s joy, how it all goes to nought.

Now it is, now no more seen;

Gone as it had never been,

Many men say truth, I ween,

That all goes by God’s will.

We all must surely die, though it seem ill.

All that green that graced the year,

Now is dying, brown and sere.

Jesus, let thy help be near

And shield us now from hell.

For I know not whither I shall go nor how long here shall dwell.