Thou king of wele and blisse,
Louerd Jesu Crist,
Thou Faderes Sone of hevene,
That never ende bist,

Thou, for to save monkunne,
That thou haddest wrought,
A meke maides wombe
Thou ne shonedest nought;

Thou that overcome
The bitter dethes sting,
Thou openedest hevene-riche
To right bileves thring;

Thou sist in Godes right hond,
In thy Faderes blisse;
Thou shalt comen to demen us,
We leveth all to wisse.

Thee, thenne, we biddeth help us
Wham thou havest iwrought,
Whom with thy derewourthe blod
On rode havest ibought;

Thee, thenne, we bisecheth,
Help us, thin owne hine,
Whom with thy derewourthe blod
Hast bought from helle pine.