Or I deyd that I myght fynde,
My Savyour with myn ey to se;
But that it is so longe behynde,
It is grett dyscomforte onto me.
ffor I waxe olde and wante my myght,
And begynne to fayle my syght,
The more I sorwe this tyde;
Save only, as I telle ȝow ryght,
God of his grace hath me hyght,
That blysful byrth to byde;