Classic Poem

Holy Wroughte of sterres bright,
Of right bileve ay lasting light,
Crist, that boughtest mon with fight,
Her the bone of meke wight!

Thou hedest ruthe of world forlore
Thorou deth of sunfol rote;
Thou savedest monkun, therfore,
To gulty geve bote.

Toward the worldes ende
Thy wille was t'alende
In on maidenes bour:
Ase spouse of chaumbre alone
Out of that clene wone
Thou come t'oure honour.

To whas stronge mightes
Knowen of alle wightes
Bendeth hem imone
Of hevene and eek of eorthe,
And knowlecheth him wourthe
For bowen to him one.

Holy God, we biddeth thee,
That shalt this worlde deme,
From oure fikel fohes spere
Thou thilke time us yeme.

Herying, worshipe, mighte, and wele
To Fader and the Sone!
And also to the Holy Gost
And ever mid hem wone!