Lord Jesu, Thou didst bow
Thy dying head upon the tree
O, be not now
More dead to me.
Lord, hear, Shall he that made the ear
Not hear?'

Lord Jesu, hear my heart,
Which hath been broken now so long,
That every part
Hath got a tongue:
Thy beggars grow rid them away
Today.

My Love, my Sweetness, hear
By these Thy feet, at which my heart
Lies all the year,
Pluck out Thy dart,
And heal my troubled breast, which cries,
Which dies.