I have told thee what Truth is; no Treasure is better;
I may linger no longer; the Lord be thy Guide!

Langland's 'Vision of Piers the Plowman'

I cry to thee from Whinny Moor,
Where souls astray must fare;
My feet are treading on the flints,
And oh! my feet are bare!
But if thou cast they mantle down
There may be softness there.

'Tis far and far that I must go,
And go in dule and need;
There falls no rain nor drifts no snow;
I thirst as those that bleed.
But spill the up should quench thy drouth,
Mine shall be slaked indeed.

Oh, wide and wide the moor is set.
And heavy weighs my sin;
By day and year I wander yet,
And Heaven is hard to win;
But leave thy hearth and fare alone,
And we may enter in.