Classic Poem

Levedy, ic thonke thee,
Wid herte swithe milde,
That god that thu havest idon me
Wid thine swete childe.

Thu art god and swete and bright,
Of alle otheir icoren.
Of thee was that swete wight,
That was Jesus, iboren.

Maide milde, bidd I thee
Wid thine swete childe,
That thu herdie me
To habben Godis milce.

Moder, loke one me,
Wid thine swete eyen,
Reste and blisse gef thu me,
My levedy, then ic deyen.