And thou that art the Flower of Virgins all,
Of whom that Bernard list so well to write,
To thee at my beginning first I call,
Solace of sinners, help me to endite
The maiden's death that, through her merite's might,
Won life eternal and the foul fiend smote —
As men may after in her story note.
Thou, Maid and Mother, Daughter of thy Son,
Thou, Well of Mercy, sick souls' Remedy,
In whom that God of Bounty chose to won,
Thou, humble, yet o'er every creature high,
Our nature thou so far didst glorify
That nought disdained the Maker of mankind
His Son in flesh and blood to clothe and wind.
Within the blissful cloister of thy side
Took shape of man the Eternal Love and Peace,
That of the realm threefold is Lord and Guide,
Whom earth and sea and heaven do never cease
To laud and praise; and thou all passionless
Bare of thy body a pure Maiden's Son,
Creator of the all-wide creation.
Assembled is in thee magnificence
With mercy, goodness and so great pitie
That thou, that art the Sun of Excellence,
Not only helpest them that pray to thee,
But often time, of thy benignity
Full freely, ere that men thine help beseech,
Dost go before and art their lives' true Leech.
Now help, thou meek and blissfulest fair Maid,
Me wretched outcast upon this waste of gall,
Think on the Canaan-woman how she said
" Yet, Lord, the dogs eat of the crumbs in hall
That underneath their master's table fall"
And though that I, unworthy son of Eve,
Be sinful, yet accept of my believe.
And for that faith without good works is dead,
So for my working give me wit and space,
That I be quit of endings dark and dread;
O thou that art so fair and full of grace,
Be thou mine Advocate in that high place
Where without end is sung the glad Osanne,
Mother of Christ, thou Daughter dear of Anne.
And of thy light, light up my soul belate,
That, by contagion of my flesh fordone,
Much troubled is; and also by the weight
Of earthly lust and false affection;
Haven of refuge, O sweet saving One
Of souls in sorrow and distress — now bless me,
And help the work whereto I thus address me.
Of whom that Bernard list so well to write,
To thee at my beginning first I call,
Solace of sinners, help me to endite
The maiden's death that, through her merite's might,
Won life eternal and the foul fiend smote —
As men may after in her story note.
Thou, Maid and Mother, Daughter of thy Son,
Thou, Well of Mercy, sick souls' Remedy,
In whom that God of Bounty chose to won,
Thou, humble, yet o'er every creature high,
Our nature thou so far didst glorify
That nought disdained the Maker of mankind
His Son in flesh and blood to clothe and wind.
Within the blissful cloister of thy side
Took shape of man the Eternal Love and Peace,
That of the realm threefold is Lord and Guide,
Whom earth and sea and heaven do never cease
To laud and praise; and thou all passionless
Bare of thy body a pure Maiden's Son,
Creator of the all-wide creation.
Assembled is in thee magnificence
With mercy, goodness and so great pitie
That thou, that art the Sun of Excellence,
Not only helpest them that pray to thee,
But often time, of thy benignity
Full freely, ere that men thine help beseech,
Dost go before and art their lives' true Leech.
Now help, thou meek and blissfulest fair Maid,
Me wretched outcast upon this waste of gall,
Think on the Canaan-woman how she said
" Yet, Lord, the dogs eat of the crumbs in hall
That underneath their master's table fall"
And though that I, unworthy son of Eve,
Be sinful, yet accept of my believe.
And for that faith without good works is dead,
So for my working give me wit and space,
That I be quit of endings dark and dread;
O thou that art so fair and full of grace,
Be thou mine Advocate in that high place
Where without end is sung the glad Osanne,
Mother of Christ, thou Daughter dear of Anne.
And of thy light, light up my soul belate,
That, by contagion of my flesh fordone,
Much troubled is; and also by the weight
Of earthly lust and false affection;
Haven of refuge, O sweet saving One
Of souls in sorrow and distress — now bless me,
And help the work whereto I thus address me.