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¶ When Y se blosmes springe,
Ant here foules song,
A suete love-longynge
Myn herte thourhout stong
Al for a love newe
That is so suete ant trewe!
That gladieth al my song:
Ich wot al myd iwisse
My joie ant eke my blisse
On him is al ylong.
When Y miselve stonde
Ant with myn eyen seo:
Thurled fot ant honde
With grete nayles threo —
Blody wes ys heued —
On him nes nout bileved
That wes of peynes freo!
Wel wel ohte myn herte
For his love to smerte,
Ant sike ant sory beo.
Jesu, milde ant softe,
Yef me streynthe ant myht
Longen sore ant ofte
To lovye the aryht.
Pyne to tholie ant dreye
For the sone, Marye,
Thou art so fre ant bryht!
Mayden ant moder mylde,
For love of thine childe,
Ernde us heven lyht!
Alas, that Y ne con
Turne to him my thoht,
Ant cheosen him to lemmon!
So duere he us hath yboht
With woundes deope ant stronge,
With peynes sore ant longe,
Of love ne conne we noht!
His blod that feol to grounde,
Of hise suete wounde,
Of peyne us hath yboht.
Jesu, milde ant suete,
Y synge the mi song;
Ofte Y the grete
Ant preye the among:
“Let me sunnes lete,
Ant in this lyve bete
That Ich have do wrong.”
At oure lyves ende,
When whe shule wende,
Jesu, us undefong.
Amen
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¶ When I see blossoms spring,
And hear birds’ song,
A sweet love-longing
Pierces through my heart
Entirely for a new love
Who is so sweet and true!
That gladdens my song:
I know quite certainly
My joy and also my bliss
Wholly in him belongs.
When I myself stand
And with my eyes see:
Pierced in foot and hand
With three great nails —
Bloody was his head —
On him was nothing withheld
That was of noble suffering!
Very truly ought my heart
Feel pain for his love,
And sigh and be sorry.
Jesus, mild and gentle,
Give me strength and might
To desire deep and oft
To love you truly.
And to suffer and endure pain
For your son, Mary,
You are so free and bright!
Maiden and mother mild,
For love of your child,
Obtain us heaven’s light!
Alas, that I cannot
Turn to him my thought,
And choose him as lover!
So dearly he has us bought
With wounds deep and strong,
With pains sore and long,
By a love we understand not!
His blood that fell to ground,
From his sweet wound,
With pain has redeemed us.
Jesus, mild and sweet,
I sing to you my song;
Often you I greet
And pray you all the while:
“Let me abandon sins,
And in this life atone
For what I have done wrong.”
At our lives’ end,
When we shall pass on,
Jesus, us receive.
Amen.
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