To Betsy Upon the Occasion of Her Illness

Arise fair maiden and do not despair,

Let not thy brow be furrowed with care.

For Christ our dear Lord did lay sickness low,

And deal unto death its last killing blow.

Take heart dear friend this is not the end,

For life and health to thee shall God lend.

He shall remove thy sorrows and give the an hymn,

For the burden upon thee Christ’s death did condemn.

Take thou the med’cine which Christ gave to thee,

When he bled and died on that rugged tree.

In chalice and paten he doth give himself,

A treasure more precious than heaven’s great wealth.

So arrise and take heart and feel no more dread,

‘Tis Christ our dear Lord that fights in thy stead.

This poem was written for a dear friend of mine while she was very ill.