Classic Poem

Blessed be thou, levedy,
Full of heovene blisse,
Swete flur of parays,
Moder of mildenesse;
Preye Jesu thy sone
That he me rede and wisse
So my wey for to gon
That he me never misse.

Of thee, swete levedy,
My song I wile biginne:
Thy deore, swete sones love
Thou lere me to winne;
Ofte I sike and serewe among —
May I never blinne!
Levedy, for thy milde mod,
Thou shilde me from sinne.

Mine thoghtes, levedy,
Maketh me full wan.
To thee I crye and calle:
Thou here me for thy man.
Help me, hevene quene,
For thin ever ich am.
Wisse me to thy deore sone;
The weyes I ne can.

Levedy, Seinte Marye,
For thy milde mod
Soffre never that I be
So wilde ne so wod
That ich here forleose
Thee that art so god,
That Jesu me to boghte
With his swete blod.

Brighte and shene sterre cler,
Light thou me and lere
In this false fikel world
Myselve so to bere
That I ner at min ending
Have the feond to fere.
Jesu, mid thy swete blod
Thou boghtest me so dere.

Levedy, Seinte Marye,
So fair and so bright,
All min help is on thee
By day and by night;
Levedy free, thou shilde me
So well as thou might,
That I never forleose
Heveriche light.

Levedy, Seinte Marye,
So fair and so hende,
Preye Jesu Crist, thy sone,
That he me grace sende
So to queme him and thee
Er ich henne wende,
That he me bringe to the bliss
That is withouten ende.

Ofte I crye " Mercy " ;
Of milse thou art welle;
Alle buen false that bueth mad
Bothe of fleish and felle;
Levedy swete, thou us shild
From the pine of helle:
Bring us to the joye
That no tonge it may of telle.

Jesu Crist, Godes sone,
Fader and Holy Gost,
Help us at oure nede
As thou it all well wost;
Bring us to thin riche,
Ther is joye most;
Let us never it misse
For non worldes bost!