Classic Poem

We prayse thee god. we knowelege thee lorde
And all erthe worshypeth thee. endelesse fader.
All aungels synge to thee.
Hevens and all powres synge to thee
That order of aungels that ys called Cherubyn
And that order of aungels that ys called Seraphyn
Synge to thee wyth voyce that never cessyth
Holy. holy. holy.
Lorde God of hostes.
Hevens and erthe ar full of the glory of thy majeste
The gloryous Company of the Apostels prayse thee
The praysable nombre of Prophetes prayse thee
The fayre hoste of martyrs that ar wasshed whyte and fayre in theyr owne blode prayse thee
Holy Chyrche knowlegethe thee and prayseth thee thrugh out all the worlde
Father of greate and of unmesurable majestye
Thy very and worshypfulle and onely sonne
And the comforter the holy goste
Thow christe arte kynge of blysse
Thow arte the endelesse sonne of the father
When thou shuldest take upon thee mankynde for the delyveraunce of man
Thow horydest not the vyrgyns wombe
Thow overcame the turmente of dethe
And openedst the kyngdome of hevens to them that beleved
Thow syttes on goddes ryghte hand in the glory of the father
We beleve that thou arte the Judge that shall come
Therfore we pray thee helpe thy servantes
Whome thow hast boughte wyth thy precyous bloude
Make thy servauntes to be rewarded in endeles blysse with thy sayntes
Lorde make thy people safe
And blesse thyne heritage
And governe them here by grace
And enhaunce them in to blysse wythout ende
Eche day we blysse thee
And we prayse thy name from tyme to tyme
Unto the ende of the worlde and after withouten ende
Lorde vouche safe to kepe us thys day without synne
Have mercy on us lorde have mercy on us
And thy mercy mote be upon us
As we have trusted in thee
In thee lorde I have trusted
That I be not confounded without ende.