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Symeon Justus. I have be prest in Jherusalem here,  And tawth Goddys lawe many a ȝere, Desyrynge in alle my mende,   That the tyme we neyhand nere, In whiche Goddys son xul apere,   In erthe to take mankende. Or I deyd that I myght fynde,  My Savyour with myn ey to se; But that it is so longe behynde,   It is grett dyscomforte onto me. ffor I waxe olde and wante my myght,  And begynne to fayle my syght, The more I sorwe this tyde;   Save only, as I telle ȝow ryght, God of his grace hath me hyght,   That blysful byrth to byde; Wherfore now here besyde,   To Sancta Sanctorum wyl I go, To pray God to be my gyde,   To comfort me aftyr my wo. Here Symeon knelyth and seyth,

A! gode God in Trinité! Whow longe xal I abyde the, Tyl that thou son thou doth sende, That I in erthe myght hym se?