  B BLYSSID be that lady bryght, That bare a chyld off great myght, Withouten peyne, as it was right, Mayd mother Marye. Goddys sonne is borne, his moder is a maid, Both aftur and beforne, as the prophycy said, With ay; A wonder thyng it is to se, How mayden and moder on may be; Was there nonne but she, The great lord of heaven our servant is becom, Thorow Gabriels stevyn, owr kynd have benom, With ay; A wonder thyng it is to se, How lord and servant on may be; Was ther never nonne but he, Born off maid Marye. Two sons togyther they owght to shyne bryght; So did that fayer ladye, whan Jesu in hir light, With ay; A wonder thyng is fall, The lord that bought fre and thrall, Is found in an assis stall, By his moder Mary. The shepherdes in her region thei lokyd into Heaven, Thei se an angell commyng down, that said with myld steven. With ay; Joy be to God almyght, And pece in yerth to man is dyte, Fore God was born on Chrismes nyght, Off his moder Marye. Thre kynges off great noblay, whan that chyld was born, To hym they tok the redy way, and kneled hym beforn, With ay; Thes iij kynges cam fro fare, Thorow ledyng of a stare, And offered hym gold, encence, and mure. And to hys moder Mary. |
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