Classic Poem

Lady! helpe, Jesu! mercy,
Timor mortis conturbat me.

Dred of deth, sorow of sin,
Trobils my hert full grevisly:
My soule it nyth with my lust then—
Passio Christi conforta me.

Fore blindness is a hevy thing,
And to be def therwith only:
To lese my light and my hering—
Passio Christi conforta me.

And to lese my tast and my smelling,
And to be seke in my body,
Here have I lost all my liking—
Passio Christi conforta me.

Thus God he gives and takes away,
And as he will, so mot it be:
His name be blessed both night and day—
Passio Christi conforta me.

Here is a cause of gret morning:
Of myselfe nothing I see
Save filth, unclenness, vile stinking—
Passio Christi conforta me.

Into this world no more I broght,
No more I gete with me, trewly,
Save good ded, word, will and thoght—
Passio Christi conforta me.

The five wondis of Jesu Christ
My medcine now mot thay be,
The Fyndis powere down to cast—
Passio Christi conforta me.

As I lay seke in my langure,
With sorow of hert and teere of ye,
This carol I made with gret doloure—
Passio Christi conforta me.

Oft with this prayere I me blest,
‘In manus tuas, Domine,
Thou take my soule into thy rest.’
Passio Christi conforta me.

Mary! moder, merciful may,
Fore the joys thou hadest, Lady,
To thy Son fore me thou pray—
Passio Christi conforta me.

Lerne this lesson of blind Awdlay,
When bale is hyest, then bot may be:
Yif thou be nyd night or day,
Say, ‘Passio Christi conforta me.’