The greater part of what I shall next quote is tolerably known even to those who have made little study of our earlier literature, yet it may not be omitted here. It is from _An Hymne of Heavenly Love_, consisting of forty-one stanzas, written in what was called _Rime Royal_--a favourite with Milton, and, next to the Spenserian, in my opinion the finest of stanzas. Its construction will reveal itself. I take two stanzas from the beginning of the hymn, then one from the heart of it, and the rest from the close. It gives no feeling of an outburst of song, but rather of a brooding chant, most quiet in virtue of the depth of its thoughtfulness. Indeed, all his rhythm is like the melodies of water, and I could quote at least three passages in which he speaks of rhythmic movements and watery progressions together. His thoughts, and hence his words, flow like a full, peaceful stream, diffuse, with plenteousness unrestrained. AN HYMN OF HEAVENLY LOVE. Before this world's great frame, in which all things Are now contained, found any being place, Ere flitting Time could wag his eyas[55] wings About that mighty bound which doth embrace The rolling spheres, and parts their hours by space, That high eternal power, which now doth move In all these things, moved in itself by love. It loved itself, because itself was fair, For fair is loved; and of itself begot Like to itself his eldest son and heir, Eternal, pure, and void of sinful blot, The firstling of his joy, in whom no jot Of love's dislike or pride was to be found, Whom he therefore with equal honour crowned. * * * * * Out of the bosom of eternal bliss, In which he reignéd with his glorious Sire, He down descended, like a most demisse _humble._ And abject thrall, in flesh's frail attire, That he for him might pay sin's deadly hire, And him restore unto that happy state In which he stood before his hapless fate. * * * * * O blessed well of love! O flower of grace! O glorious Morning-Star! O Lamp of Light! Most lively image of thy Father's face! Eternal King of Glory, Lord of might! Meek Lamb of God, before all worlds behight! _promised._ How can we thee requite for all this good? Or what can prize that thy most precious blood? _equal in value._ Yet nought thou ask'st in lieu of all this love But love of us for guerdon of thy pain: Ay me! what can us less than that behove?[56] Had he required life of[57] us again, Had it been wrong to ask his own with gain? He gave us life, he it restored lost; Then life were least, that us so little cost.