(?)_
Thy faith let me not fallen fro. _from_
Jesu, my joy and my succour,
In my body and soul also,
God, thou be my strongest food, the rhyme fails here.
And wisse thou me when me is woe. _think on me._
Lord, thou makest friend of foe,
Let me not live in languor thus,
But see my sorrow, and say now "Ho,"
And be my comfort, Christ Jesus.
Of fourteen stanzas called _Richard de Castre's Prayer to Jesus_, I
choose five from the latter half, where the prayer passes from his own
spiritual necessities, very tenderly embodied, to those of others. It
does our hearts good to see the clouded sun of prayer for oneself break
forth in the gladness of blessed entreaty for all men, for them that make
Him angry, for saints in trouble, for the country torn by war, for the
whole body of Christ and its unity. After the stanza--
Jesus, for the deadly tears
That thou sheddest for my guilt,
Hear and speed my prayers
And spare me that I be not spilt;
the best that is in the suppliant shines out thus
Jesu, for them I thee beseech
That wrathen thee in any wise;
Withhold from them thy hand of wreche, _vengeance._
And let them live in thy service.
Jesu, most comfort for to see
Of thy saintis every one,
Comfort them that careful be,
And help them that be woe-begone.
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