 | Yorkshire writers |  |
XI.
[Heyle Ihesu, my creatowre, of sorowyng medicyne.]
Heyle Ihesu, my creatowre, of sorowyng medicyne.
Heyle Ihesu, mi saueowre, þat for me sufferd pyne.
Heyle Ihesu, helpe & sokowre: my lufe be ay þine.
Heyle Ihesu, þe blyssed flowre of þi moder virgyne.
Heyle Ihesu, mi saueowre, þat for me sufferd pyne.
Heyle Ihesu, helpe & sokowre: my lufe be ay þine.
Heyle Ihesu, þe blyssed flowre of þi moder virgyne.
79
Heyle Ihesu, leder to lyght: In saule þou ert ful swete,
Þi luf schynes day & nyght, þat strenghes me in þis strete.
Lene me langyng to þi sight, & gif me grace til grete:
For þou Ihesu, hase þat myght, þat al my bale may bete.
Þi luf schynes day & nyght, þat strenghes me in þis strete.
Lene me langyng to þi sight, & gif me grace til grete:
For þou Ihesu, hase þat myght, þat al my bale may bete.
Ihesu, þi grace my hert enspyre, þat me til blis mai bryng,
On þe I sett al my desyre, þou ert my luf-langyng.
Þi luf es byrnand als þe fyre, þat euer on he wil spryng.
Far fro me put pride & Ire, for þam I luf na-thyng.
On þe I sett al my desyre, þou ert my luf-langyng.
Þi luf es byrnand als þe fyre, þat euer on he wil spryng.
Far fro me put pride & Ire, for þam I luf na-thyng.
Heile Ihesu, price of my prayer, lorde of mageste:
Þou art ioy þat lastes ay, all delyte þou art to se.
Gyf me grace, als þou wel may, þi lufer for to be:
My langyng wendes neuer a-way, til þat I com̄ til þe.
Þou art ioy þat lastes ay, all delyte þou art to se.
Gyf me grace, als þou wel may, þi lufer for to be:
My langyng wendes neuer a-way, til þat I com̄ til þe.
Ihesu to lufe ay be me lefe, þat es my gastly gode.
Allas, my god es als a thefe nayled til þe rode!
Hys tender vayns begyns to brest, al rennes of blode,
Handes & fete with nayles er fest: þat chawnges mi mode.
Allas, my god es als a thefe nayled til þe rode!
Hys tender vayns begyns to brest, al rennes of blode,
Handes & fete with nayles er fest: þat chawnges mi mode.
Ihesu mi keyng es me ful dere, þat with his blode me boght,
Of spittyng spred es al þat clere, to dede with betyng broght.
For me he tholed þies payns sere, þe whilk wreche he wroght:
For-þi þai sitt my hert ful nere, þat I forgete þam noght.
Of spittyng spred es al þat clere, to dede with betyng broght.
For me he tholed þies payns sere, þe whilk wreche he wroght:
For-þi þai sitt my hert ful nere, þat I forgete þam noght.
Ihesu, fortune of ilk a fyght, þou graunt me grace to spede,
Þat I may lufe þe ryght, & haue þe to my mede.
Þi luf es fast in ilk a fandyng, & euer at al owre nede.
Als thurgh þi grace art my ȝhernyng, In til þi lyght me lede.
Þat I may lufe þe ryght, & haue þe to my mede.
Þi luf es fast in ilk a fandyng, & euer at al owre nede.
Als thurgh þi grace art my ȝhernyng, In til þi lyght me lede.
| Yorkshire writers | |