Jesus, thou art wisdom of wit, understanding.
Of thy Father full of might!
Man's soul—to save it,
In poor apparel thou wert pight. pitched, placed,
Jesus, thou wert in cradle knit, [dressed.
In weed wrapped both day and night; originally, dress of
In Bethlehem born, as the gospel writ, [any kind.
With angels' song, and heaven-light.
Bairn y-born of a beerde bright,[52]
Full courteous was thy comely cus: kiss.
Through virtue of that sweet light,
So be my comfort, Christ Jesus.
Jesus, that wert of yearis young,
Fair and fresh of hide and hue,
When thou wert in thraldom throng, driven.
And tormented with many a Jew,
When blood and water were out-wrung,
For beating was thy body blue;
As a clot of clay thou wert for-clong, shrunk.
So dead in trough then men thee threw. coffin.
But grace from thy grave grew:
Thou rose up quick comfort to us. living.
For her love that this counsel knew,
So be my comfort, Christ Jesus.
Jesus, soothfast God and man,
Two kinds knit in one person,
The wonder-work that thou began
Thou hast fulfilled in flesh and bone.
Out of this world wightly thou wan, thou didst win, or make
Lifting up thyself alone; [thy way, powerfully.
For mightily thou rose and ran
Straight unto thy Father on throne.
Now dare man make no more moan—
For man it is thou wroughtest thus,
And God with man is made at one;
So be my comfort, Christ Jesus.
Jesu, my sovereign Saviour,
Almighty God, there ben no mo: there are no more—thou
Christ, thou be my governor; [art all in all.(?)
Thy faith let me not fallen fro. from
Jesu, my joy and my succour,
In my body and soul also,
God, thou be my strongest food, the rhyme fails here.
And wisse thou me when me is woe. think on me.
Lord, thou makest friend of foe,
Let me not live in languor thus,
But see my sorrow, and say now "Ho,"
And be my comfort, Christ Jesus.
Of fourteen stanzas called Richard de Castre's Prayer to Jesus, I choose five from the latter half, where the prayer passes from his own spiritual necessities, very tenderly embodied, to those of others. It does our hearts good to see the clouded sun of prayer for oneself break forth in the gladness of blessed entreaty for all men, for them that make Him angry, for saints in trouble, for the country torn by war, for the whole body of Christ and its unity. After the stanza—
Jesus, for the deadly tears
That thou sheddest for my guilt,
Hear and speed my prayérs
And spare me that I be not spilt;
the best that is in the suppliant shines out thus
Jesu, for them I thee beseech
That wrathen thee in any wise;
Withhold from them thy hand of wreche, vengeance.
And let them live in thy service.
Jesu, most comfort for to see
Of thy saintis every one,
Comfort them that careful be,
And help them that be woe-begone.