The oddness of the last line but one of the fourth stanza is redeemed by the wonderful reality it gives to the faith of the speaker: "See my sorrow, and say Ho!" stopping it as one would call after a man and stop him. Jesus, thou art wisdom of wit, _understanding._ Of thy Father full of might! Man's soul--to save it, In poor apparel thou wert pight. _pitched, placed, Jesus, thou wert in cradle knit, [dressed._ In weed wrapped both day and night; originally, _dress of In Bethlehem born, as the gospel writ, [any kind._ With angels' song, and heaven-light. Bairn y-born of a beerde bright,[52] Full courteous was thy comely cus: _kiss._ Through virtue of that sweet light, So be my comfort, Christ Jesus. Jesus, that wert of yearis young, Fair and fresh of hide and hue, When thou wert in thraldom throng, _driven._ And tormented with many a Jew, When blood and water were out-wrung, For beating was thy body blue; As a clot of clay thou wert for-clong, _shrunk._ So dead in trough then men thee threw. _coffin._ But grace from thy grave grew: Thou rose up quick comfort to us. _living._ For her love that this counsel knew, So be my comfort, Christ Jesus. Jesus, soothfast God and man, Two kinds knit in one person, The wonder-work that thou began Thou hast fulfilled in flesh and bone. Out of this world wightly thou wan, _thou didst win, or make Lifting up thyself alone; [thy way, powerfully._ For mightily thou rose and ran Straight unto thy Father on throne. Now dare man make no more moan-- For man it is thou wroughtest thus, And God with man is made at one; So be my comfort, Christ Jesus. Jesu, my sovereign Saviour, Almighty God, there ben no mo: _there are no more--thou Christ, thou be my governor; [art all in all.(?)_ 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--