_
For to heaven he hath me brought.
Our brother and sister he is by skill, _reason._
For he so said, and lerid us that lore, _taught._
That whoso wrought his Father's will,
Brethren and sisters to him they wore. _were._
My kind also he took ther-tille; _my nature also he took
Full truly trust I him therefore [for that purpose._
That he will never let me spill, _perish._
But with his mercy salve my sore.
With lovely lore his works to fill, _fulfil._
Well ought I, wretch, if I were kind-- _natural._
Night and day to work his will,
And ever have that Lord in mind.
But ghostly foes grieve me ill, _spiritual._
And my frail flesh maketh me blind;
Therefore his mercy I take me till, _betake me to._
For better bote can I none find. _aid._
In my choice of stanzas I have to keep in view some measure of
completeness in the result. These poems, however, are mostly very loose
in structure. This, while it renders choice easy, renders closeness of
unity impossible.
From a poem headed--again from the last line of each stanza--_Be my
comfort, Christ Jesus,_ I choose the following four, each possessing some
remarkable flavour, tone, or single touch.
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