 | Religious Lyrics of the XVth Century |  |
95. Behold Jesus on the Cross
Godys sone þat was so fre
In-to þis world he cam,
And let hym naylyn vp-on a tre,
Al for þe loue of man.
His fayre blod, þat was so fre,
Out of his body it ran—
A dwelful syȝte it was to se.
His body heng blak & wan.
Wiþ an o & an I His coroune was mad of þorn,
And prikkede in-to his panne Boþe byhynde & a-forn.
In-to þis world he cam,
And let hym naylyn vp-on a tre,
Al for þe loue of man.
His fayre blod, þat was so fre,
Out of his body it ran—
A dwelful syȝte it was to se.
His body heng blak & wan.
Wiþ an o & an I His coroune was mad of þorn,
And prikkede in-to his panne Boþe byhynde & a-forn.
To a piler y-bowndyn,
Ihū was swiþe sore,
And suffrede many a wownde
þat scharp & betere wore.
He hadde vs euere in mynde
In al his harde þrowe;
And we ben so vnkynde
We nelyn hym nat yknowe.
Wiþ an O & an I But ȝif we loue hym trewe,
Houre peynys ben in helle Ȝarkyd euere newe.
Ihū was swiþe sore,
And suffrede many a wownde
þat scharp & betere wore.
He hadde vs euere in mynde
In al his harde þrowe;
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We nelyn hym nat yknowe.
Wiþ an O & an I But ȝif we loue hym trewe,
Houre peynys ben in helle Ȝarkyd euere newe.
Who-so wele loue trewe,
Byhold ihū on þe croys,
How he heng pale of hewe,
And cryde wiþ mylde voys—
‘Me þristiþ’ he gan to kalle—
þe iewis herdyn þys;
Eysel meynt wiþ galle,
þey bedyn hym y-wys.
Wiþ an O & an I His þrist was to seyȝe,
ffor loue of manys soule Hym longede for to deyȝe.
Byhold ihū on þe croys,
How he heng pale of hewe,
And cryde wiþ mylde voys—
‘Me þristiþ’ he gan to kalle—
þe iewis herdyn þys;
Eysel meynt wiþ galle,
þey bedyn hym y-wys.
Wiþ an O & an I His þrist was to seyȝe,
ffor loue of manys soule Hym longede for to deyȝe.
Who-so be proud in herte,
þynk on god al-myȝt
And on his wowndys smerte,
How rewly he was a-dyȝt.
Godys sone in trone,
þat heyȝest is of myȝt,
Tok batayle a-lone
ffor oure loue to fyȝt.
Wiþ an O & an I þe batayle was so stronge,
At many a betyr wownde þe ryche blod out spronge.
þynk on god al-myȝt
And on his wowndys smerte,
How rewly he was a-dyȝt.
Godys sone in trone,
þat heyȝest is of myȝt,
Tok batayle a-lone
ffor oure loue to fyȝt.
Wiþ an O & an I þe batayle was so stronge,
At many a betyr wownde þe ryche blod out spronge.
Trewe turtyl, corounyd on hylle,
þat heyȝest art of kynde,
þy loue chaungyþ my wille,
Whan þu comyst in my mynde.
þe fend I forsake anon
ffor on lady so hende—
To seruyn þe lady þan wil I gon,
ffor ȝhe is of my kende.
Wiþ an O and an I Ich am on of þo,
þat þy sone bouȝte dere He schal me nat for-go.
þat heyȝest art of kynde,
þy loue chaungyþ my wille,
Whan þu comyst in my mynde.
þe fend I forsake anon
ffor on lady so hende—
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ffor ȝhe is of my kende.
Wiþ an O and an I Ich am on of þo,
þat þy sone bouȝte dere He schal me nat for-go.
A—M—E—N
| Religious Lyrics of the XVth Century | |