Gertrude's Prayer

That which is marred at birth Time shall not mend,

Nor water out of bitter well make clean;

All evil thing returneth at the end,

Or elsewhere walketh in our blood unseen.

Whereby the more is sorrow in certaine --

Dayspring mishandled cometh not againe.

Too bruizèd be that slender, sterting spray

Out of the oakes rind that should betide

A branch of girt and goodliness, straightway

Her spring is turned on herself, and wried

And knotted like some gall or veiney wen --

Dayspring mishandled cometh not agen.

Noontide repayeth never morning-bliss --

Sith noon to morn is incomparable;

And, so it be our dawning goth amiss,

None other after-hour serveth well.

Ah! Jesu-Moder, pitie my oe paine --

Dayspring mishandled cometh not againe!