So sore I burnt for him I still must e’en
Sing, blithe, of him with thee, my lord most high.
And that in him which crowneth my liesse
Is that I please him, as he pleaseth me,
Thanks to Love debonair;
Thus in this world my wish I do possess
And in the next I trust at peace to be,
Through that fast faith I bear
To him; sure God, who seeth this, will ne’er
The kingdom of His bliss to us deny.