 | The Harley Lyrics |  |
21 IESU, FOR ÞI MUCHELE MIHT
Iesu, for þi muchele miht,
þou ȝef vs of þi grace,
þat we mowe dai ant nyht
þenken o þi face.
In myn herte hit doþ me god
when y þenke on Iesu blod,
þat ran doun bi ys syde,
from is herte doun to is fot;
for ous he spradde is herte blod,
his wondes were so wyde.
þou ȝef vs of þi grace,
þat we mowe dai ant nyht
þenken o þi face.
In myn herte hit doþ me god
when y þenke on Iesu blod,
þat ran doun bi ys syde,
58
for ous he spradde is herte blod,
his wondes were so wyde.
When y þenke on Iesu ded,
min herte ouerwerpes;
mi soule is won so is þe led
for mi fole werkes.
Ful wo is þat ilke mon
þat Iesu ded ne þenkes on,
what he soffrede so sore.
For my synnes y wil wete,
ant alle y wyle hem forlete,
nou ant euermore.
min herte ouerwerpes;
mi soule is won so is þe led
for mi fole werkes.
Ful wo is þat ilke mon
þat Iesu ded ne þenkes on,
what he soffrede so sore.
For my synnes y wil wete,
ant alle y wyle hem forlete,
nou ant euermore.
Mon þat is in ioie ant blis
ant liþ in shame ant synne,
he is more þen vnwis
þat þerof nul nout blynne.
Al þis world hit geþ away,
me þynkeþ hit neȝyþ domesday,
nou man gos to grounde.
Iesu Crist, þat þolede ded,
he may oure soules to heuene led
wiþinne a lutel stounde.
ant liþ in shame ant synne,
he is more þen vnwis
þat þerof nul nout blynne.
Al þis world hit geþ away,
me þynkeþ hit neȝyþ domesday,
nou man gos to grounde.
Iesu Crist, þat þolede ded,
he may oure soules to heuene led
wiþinne a lutel stounde.
Þah þou haue al þi wille,
þenk on Godes wondes;
for þat we ne shulde spille,
he þolede harde stoundes.
Al for mon he þolede ded;
ȝyf he wyle leue on is red
ant leue his folie,
we shule haue ioie ant blis,
more þen we conne seien ywys,
in Iesu compagnie.
þenk on Godes wondes;
for þat we ne shulde spille,
he þolede harde stoundes.
Al for mon he þolede ded;
ȝyf he wyle leue on is red
ant leue his folie,
we shule haue ioie ant blis,
more þen we conne seien ywys,
in Iesu compagnie.
Iesu, þat wes milde ant fre,
wes wiþ spere ystongen;
he was nailed to þe tre,
wiþ scourges yswongen;
al for mon he þolede shame,
wiþouten gult, wiþouten blame,
boþe day ant oþer.
Mon, ful muchel he louede þe,
when he wolde make þe fre
ant bicome þi broþer.
wes wiþ spere ystongen;
he was nailed to þe tre,
wiþ scourges yswongen;
al for mon he þolede shame,
wiþouten gult, wiþouten blame,
boþe day ant oþer.
59
when he wolde make þe fre
ant bicome þi broþer.
| The Harley Lyrics | |