ervice of Christ, instead of as a means of
gathering strength wherewith to serve him by being in the world as he was
in the world.

From a poem of forty-eight stanzas I choose five, partly in order to
manifest that, although there is in it an occasional appearance of what
we should consider sentimentality, allied in nature to that worship of
the Virgin which is more a sort of French gallantry than a feeling of
reverence, the sense of duty to the Master keeps pace with the profession
of devotedness to him. There is so little continuity of thought in it,
that the stanzas might almost be arranged anyhow.

Jesu, thy love be all my thought;
Of other thing ne reck I nought; _reckon._
I yearn to have thy will y-wrought,
For thou me hast well dear y-bought.

Jesu, well may mine hearte see
That mild and meek he must be,
All unthews and lustes flee, _bad habits._
That feelen will the bliss of thee. _feel._

For sinful folk, sweet Jesus,
Thou lightest from the high house;
Poor and low thou wert for us.
Thine heart's love thou sendest us.

Jesu, therefore beseech I thee
Thy sweet love thou grant me;
That I thereto worthy be,
Make me worthy that art so free. _thou that art._

Jesu, thine help at my ending!
And in that dreadful out-wending, _going forth of the spirit._
Send my soul good weryyng, _guard._
That I ne dread none evil thing.

I shall next present a short lyric, displaying more of art than this
last, giving it now in the old form, and afterwards in a new one, that my
reader may see both how it looks in its original dress, and what it
means.

Wynter wakeneth al my care,
Nou this leves waxeth bare,
Ofte y sike ant mourne sare, _sigh; sore._
When hit cometh in my thoht
Of this worldes joie, how hit goth al to noht.

Now hit is, ant now hit nys, _it is not._
Also hit ner nere y-wys,[9]
That moni mon seith soth hit ys,[10]
Al goth bote Godes wille,
Alle we shule deye, thah us like ylle. _though it pleases us ill._

Al that gren me graueth grene,[11]
Nou hit faleweth al by-dene; _grows yellow: speedily._
Jhesu, help that hit be sene, _seen._
Ant shild us from helle;
For y not whider y shal, ne hou longe her duelle.[12]

I will now give a modern version of it, in which I have spoiled the
original of c