Four years, upon a mountain’s brow,
And Hermit lived — the Lord knows how.
A robe of sackcloth he did wear,
And got his food — the Lord knows where.
Hardships and penance were his lot,
He often prayed — the Lord knows what.
At last, this holy man did die.
He left the world; the Lord knows why!
He’s buried in this gloomy den,
And he shall rise — the Lord knows when!
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