"Stond wel, Moder, under rode,
Bihold thi child wyth glade mode;
Blythe, Moder, mittu ben."
"Sune, quu may blithe stonden?
Hi se thin feet, hi se thin honden
Nayled to the harde tre."
"Moder, do wey thi wepinge:
Hi thole this ded for mannes thinge;
For owen gilte tholi non."
"Sune, hi fele the dede stunde;
The swerd is at min herte grunde,
That me byhytte Symeon."
"Moder, reu upon thi bern:
Thu wasse awey tho blodi teren,
It don me werse than mi ded."
"Sune, hu mitti teres wernen?
Hy se tho blodi flodes hernen
Huth of thin herte to min fet."
"Moder, ny y may thee seyn,
Bettere is that ic one deye
Than al mankyn to helle go."
"Sune, y se thi bodi swngen,
Thi brest, thin hond, thi fot thur-stungen
No selli thou me be wo."
"Moder, if y dar thee tellen,
Yif y ne deye, thu gost to helle;
Hi thole this ded for thine sake."
"Sune, thu best me so minde.
With me nout; it is mi kinde
That y for thee sorye make."
"Moder, merci, let me deyen,
For Adam ut of helle beyn
And al mankin that is forloren."
"Sune, wat sal me to rede?
Thi pine pined me to dede;
Let me deyn thee biforen."
"Moder, mitarst thi mith leren
Wat pine tholen that childre beren,
Wat sorwe haven that child forgon."
"Sune, y wot y kan thee tellen,
Bute it be the pine of helle,
More sorwe ne woth y non."
"Moder, reu of moder kare,
Nu thu wost of moder fare,
Thou thu be clene mayden man."
"Sune, help alle at nede,
Alle tho that to me greden —
Mayden, wyf, and fol wyman."
"Moder, y may no lenger duellen;
The time is cumen y fare to helle,
The thridde day y rise upon."
"Sune, y wyle withe funden.
Y deye ywis of thine wnden;
So reuful ded was nevere non."
When he ros than fel thi sorwe:
The blisse sprong the thridde morewe
Wen blithe, Moder, wer thu tho.
Moder, for that ilke blisse
Bisech ure God, ure sinnes lesse,
Thu be hure chel ayen hure fo.
Blisced be thu, quen of hevene,
Bring us ut of helle levene
Thurth thi dere sunes mith.
Moder, for that hithe blode
That he sadde upon the rode
Led us into hevene lith. Amen.