Classic Poem

Upon Good-Friday, I will fast while I may
Untill I heare them knell
Our Lords owne Bell,
Lord in his messe
With his twelve Apostles good,
What hath he in his hand
Light in leath wand:
What hath he in his other hand?
Heavens doore key,
Open, open Heaven doore keyes,
Steck, steck hell dore.
Let Crizum child
Goe to it Mother mild,
What is it yonder that casts a light so farrandly,
Mine owne deare Sonne that's naild to the Tree.
He is naild sore by the heart and hand,
And holy barne Panne,
Well is that man
That Fryday spell can,
His Childe to learne;
A Crosse of Blew, and another of Red,
As good Lord was to the Roode.
Gabriel laid him downe to sleepe
Vpon the ground of holy weepe:
Good Lord came walking by,
Sleep's thou, wak'st thou Gabriel ,
No lord I am sted with sticke and stake,
That I can neither sleepe nor wake:
Rise up Gabriel and goe with me,
The stick nor the stake shall never feere thee.
Sweet Iesus our Lord, Amen.