_place, seat, room._ Rich and poor that low will lowte, _bow._ Alway thank God for all.
I cannot say there is much poetry in this, but there is much truth and wisdom.

There is the finest poetry, however, too, in the line--I give it now letter for letter:-- But think that God ys ther he was.
There is poetry too in the line, if I interpret it rightly as intending the gospel-- The sonde that God sent al abowte.
I shall now make a few extracts from poems of the same century whose authors are unknown.[51] A good many such are extant.

With regard to the similarity of those I choose, I would remark, that not only will the poems of the same period necessarily resemble each other, but, where the preservation of any has depended upon the choice and transcription of one person, these will in all probability resemble each other yet more.

Here are a few verses from a hymn headed _The Sweetness of Jesus_:-- If I for kindness should love my kin, _for natural reasons.
Then me thinketh in my thought [Kind is nature,_ By kindly skill I should begin _by natural judgment._ At him that hath me made of nought; His likeness he set my soul within, And all this world for me hath wrought; As father he fondid my love to win, _set about._ For to heaven he hath me brought.
Our brother and sister he is by skill, _reason._ For he so said, and lerid us that lore, _taught._ That whoso wrought his Father's will, Brethren and sisters to him they wore.

_were._ My kind also he took ther-tille; _my nature also he took Full truly trust I him therefore [for that purpose._ That he will never let me spill, _perish._ But with his mercy salve my sore.
With lovely lore his works to fill, _fulfil._ Well ought I, wretch, if I were kind-- _natural._ Night and day to work his will, And ever have that Lord in mind.
But ghostly foes grieve me ill, _spiritual._ And my frail flesh maketh me blind; Therefore his mercy I take me till, _betake me to._ For better bote can I none find.