The ferste day of ȝol we han in mynde

Mak we merthe for Crystes berthe,
And synge we ȝol til Candlimes.

The ferste day of ȝol we han in mynde
How man was born al of our kende,
For he wold the bondes on-bynde
    Of alle our synne and wykkydnes.

The secunde day we syng of Stevene,
That stonyd was, and fid up evene
With Cryst there he wold stonde in hevene,
    And crownyd was for his promys.

The threde day longs to Saynt Jon,
That was Crystes derlyng, derest on,
To hem he tok, quan he xuld gone,
    His dere moder, for his clennes.

The forte day of the chylderyn ȝyng,
With Herowdes wrethe to deth were wrong,
Of Cryst thei cowde now speke with long,
    But with here blod bare wytnesse.

The fyfth day halwyn Seynt Thomas,
Ryth as strong as peler of bras,
Hyld up his kyrke and slayin was
    For he stod faste in rhthwynes.

The extende day tok Jhesu his nam,
That savyd mankynde fro synne and schame.
And circymsysid was for non blame,
    But for insaun[ce] and mekeness.

The .xij. day offeryd to hym kynges .iij.
Gold, myrre, incens, this ȝyftes fre,
For God and man and kynge is he,
    And thus thei worchepyd his worthinesse.

The forty day came Mary myld
On to the temple with here schyld,
To schewyn here clene that never was fyld;
    And here-with endis Crystemesse.