He was but dust: how could he stand before him? And being fallen, why should he fear to die? Cannot the hand that made him first, restore him? Depraved of sin, should he deprivéd lie Of grace? Can he not find infirmity That gave him strength?--Unworthy the forsaking He is, whoever weighs (without mistaking) Or maker of the man or manner of his making.[89] Who shall thy temple incense any more, Or to thy altar crown the sacrifice, Or strew with idle flowers the hallowed floor? Or what should prayer deck with herbs and spice, _why._ Her vials breathing orisons of price, If all must pay that which all cannot pay? O first begin with me, and Mercy slay, And thy thrice honoured Son, that now beneath doth stray. But if or he or I may live and speak, And heaven can joy to see a sinner weep, Oh! let not Justice' iron sceptre break A heart already broke, that low doth creep, And with prone humbless her feet's dust doth sweep. Must all go by desert? Is nothing free? Ah! if but those that only worthy be, None should thee ever see! none should thee ever see! What hath man done that man shall not undo Since God to him is grown so near akin? Did his foe slay him? He shall slay his foe. Hath he lost all? He all again shall win. Is sin his master? He shall master sin. Too hardy soul, with sin the field to try! The only way to conquer was to fly; But thus long death hath lived, and now death's self shall die. He is a path, if any be misled; He is a robe, if any naked be; If any chance to hunger, he is bread; If any be a bondman, he is free; If any be but weak, how strong is he! To dead men life he is, to sick men health, To blind men sight, and to the needy wealth; A pleasure without loss, a treasure without stealth. Who can forget--never to be forgot-- The time that all the world in slumber lies, When like the stars the singing angels shot To earth, and heaven awakéd all his eyes To see another sun at midnight rise? On earth was never sight of peril fame; _pareil: equal._ For God before man like himself did frame, But God himself now like a mortal man became. * * * * * The angels carolled loud their song of peace; The cursed oracles were stricken dumb; To see their Shepherd the poor shepherds press; To see their King, the kingly Sophies come; And them to guide unto his master's home, A star comes dancing up the orient, That springs for joy over the strawy tent, Where gold, to make their prince a crown, they all present.