LITMIR.BIZ

      O all ye who passe by, behold and see:

      Man stole the fruit, but I must climbe the tree;

      The tree of life to all, but onely me:

      Was ever grief like mine?

      Lo, here I hang, charg’d with a world of sinne,

      The greater world o’ th’ two; for that came in

      By words, but this by sorrow I must win:

      Was ever grief like mine?

      Such sorrow, as if sinful man could feel,

      Or feel his part, he would not cease to kneel,

      Till all were melted, though he were all steel.

      Was ever grief like mine?

      But, O my God, my God! why leav’st thou me,

      The sonne, in whom thou dost delight to be?

      My God, my Go————

      Never was grief like mine!

      Shame tears my soul, my bodie many a wound;

      Sharp nails pierce this, but sharper that confound;

      Reproches, which are free, while I am bound:

      Was ever grief like mine?

      Now heal thyself, Physician; now come down.

      Alas! I did so, when I left my crown

      And father’s smile for you, to feel his frown:

      Was ever grief like mine?

      In healing not myself, there doth consist

      All that salvation, which ye now resist;

      Your safetie in my sicknesse doth subsist:

      Was ever grief like mine?

      Betwixt two theeves I spend my utmost breath,

      As he that for some robberie suffereth,

      Alas! what have I stollen from you? death:

      Was ever grief like mine?

      A king my title is, prefixt on high;

      Yet by my subjects am condemn’d to die

      A servile death in servile companie:

      Was ever grief like mine?

      They gave me vineger mingled with gall,

      But more with malice: yet, when they did call,

      With manna, angel’s food, I fed them all:

      Was ever grief like mine?

      They part my garments, and by lot dispose

      My coat, the type of love, which once cur’d those

      Who sought for help, never malicious foes:

      Was ever grief like mine?

      Nay, after death their spite shall further go;

      For they will pierce my side, I full well know;

      That as sinne came, so sacraments might flow:

      Was ever grief like mine?

      But now I die; now all is finished.

      My wo, man’s weal: and now I bow my head:

      Onely let others say, when I am dead,

      Never was grief like mine!