Thou bring us into heaven's light. AMEN.


I think my readers will not be sorry to have another of a similar
character.

I sigh when I sing
For sorrow that I see,
When I with weeping
Behold upon the tree,

And see Jesus the sweet
His heart's blood for-lete _yield quite._
For the love of me.
His woundés waxen wete, _wet._
They weepen still and mete:[5]
Mary rueth thee. _pitieth._

High upon a down, _hill._
Where all folk it see may,
A mile from each town,
About the mid-day,
The rood is up arearéd;
His friendés are afearéd,
And clingeth so the clay;[6]
The rood stands in stone,
Mary stands her on,
And saith Welaway!

When I thee behold