[Poems from the Vernon MS] :: :: University of Virginia Library

Swete Ihesu, now wol I synge
To þe a song of loue longinge:
Do in myn herte a welle springe
Þe to louen ouer alle þinge.

Swete Ihesu, kyng of blisse,
Min herte loue, Min herte lisse:
In loue, lord, þou me wisse,
And let me neuere þi loue misse.

Swete Ihesu, myn herte liht,
Þow art day wiþ-oute niht:
Ȝiue me boþe Grace and miht
ffor to loue þe ariht.

Swete Ihesu, my soule bote,
In myn herte þou sette a Roote
Of þi loue þat is so swote,
And weete hit þat hit springe mote!

Swete Ihesu, myn herte gleem,
Brihtore þen þe sonne Beem:
As þou weore boren In Bethleem,
Þou make in me þi loue-dreem.

Swete Ihesu, þi loue is swete—
Wo is him þat hit schal leete!
Ȝif me grace for to wepe
ffor my synnes teres wete.

450

Swete Ihesu, kyng of londe,
Mak þou me to vnderstonde,
Þat I may In myn herte fonde
Hou swete is þi loue-bonde.

Swete Ihesu, me reweþ sore
Of my misdedes I haue don ȝore:
ffor-ȝif me, lord, I wol no more,
But I þe aske Milce and ore.

Swete Ihesu, Lord myn,
Mi lyf, my soule is al þin:
Vndo myn herte and liȝte þerin,
And saue me from wikked engyn.

Swete Ihesu, lord good,
ffor me þou scheddest þi blessed blod—
Out of þin herte hit com þe flod—
Þi Moder hit sauȝ wiþ druyri mod:

Swete Ihesu, Briht and Schene,
Heere me, lord, for I me mene,
Þorw preyere of Marie, Milde qweene,
Þat þi loue on me be sene.

Swete Ihesu, Mi soule foode,
Alle werkes of þe ben goode;
Þou bouȝtest me vppon þe Rode
And scheddest þeron þi swete blode.

Swete Ihesu, Barn Best,
Þi loue þou in myn herte fest;
Whon I go North, Souþ, Est or West,
In þe al-one fynde I rest.

Swete Ihesu, wel may him be
Þat þe schal in þi blisse se!
Wiþ loue-cordes drauȝ þou me,
Þat I may comen and wone wiþ þe.

451

Swete Ihesu, heuene-kyng,
ffeir and best ouer alle þing:
Bring me in to þat loue-longyng
To come to þe at myn endyng.