There was nothing at the end. The last arrow saved one day at most from fate's appointed hour. And for nothing in the heat and endless flood, two by two our Noah drowned us. I think of home and Isabel, my love --the kinder fate I might have chosen, the way I might have died. CH: Oh wrath, forgetting Grace upon me. Mistakes in battle, fallen soldiers lie. And I, the blessed hero wounded. Oh wrath, my pride has let me die. And in her eyes and in a bed we'd share a thousand blessed pleasures. Sanctity, love, and warm grace fill our home. Our children loved and raised in faith surround me, which I forgot and took for granted here --turned my back on all I loved for gold. (CH) All metal tastes of blood, and my regret is true. My wealth dilute spills from my wound into the mighty dragging river and Isabel now cannot even widow be, though she shall be my final resting thought. Would I were with her in this sleep.