I was fful sory and ryght sad;
ffor syght of hym I myght non have,
ffor mornynge sore I was nere mad.
Grettere sorwe ȝit nevyr whithe had,
Whan my Lord awey was gon,
But now in herte I am so glad,
So grett a joy nevyr wyff had non.
How myght I more gretter joye have,
Than se that Lorde with opyn syght,
The whiche my sowle from synne to save,