Yet on the other side, faine would he start Above his feares, and thinke it cannot be. He studies Scripture, strives to sound the heart And feele the pulse of every prophecy; He knows (but knowes not how, or by what art) The Heav'n-expecting ages hope to see A mighty Babe, Whose pure, unspotted birth From a chast virgin wombe, should blesse the Earth. XXI. But these vast mysteries his senses smother, And reason (for what's faith to him?) devoure. How she that is a maid should prove a mother, Yet keepe inviolate her virgin flower; How God's eternall Sonne should be Man's brother, Poseth his proudest intellectuall power. How a pure Spirit should incarnate bee, And Life it selfe weare Death's fraile livery. XXII. That the great angell-blinding Light should shrinke His blaze, to shine in a poore shepherd's eye: That the unmeasur'd God so low should sinke, As pris'ner in a few poore rags to lye: That from His mother's brest He milke should drinke, Who feeds with nectar Heav'n's faire family: That a vile manger His low bed should prove, Who in a throne of stars thunders above. XXIII. That He Whom the sun serves, should faintly peepe Through clouds of infant flesh: that He the old Eternall Word should be a child, and weepe: That He Who made the fire, should feare the cold: That Heav'n's high Majesty His court should keepe In a clay-cottage, by each blast control'd: That Glorie's Self should serve our griefs and feares, And free Eternity, submit to yeares. XXIV. And further, that the Lawe's eternall Giver Should bleed in His Owne Lawe's obedience: And to the circumcising knife deliver Himselfe, the forfet of His slave's offence: That the unblemisht Lambe, blessèd for ever, Should take the marke of sin, and paine of sence. These are the knotty riddles, whose darke doubt Intangles his lost thoughts, past getting out. XXV. While new thoughts boyl'd in his enragèd brest, His gloomy bosome's darkest character Was in his shady forehead seen exprest: The forehead's shade in Griefe's expression there, Is what in signe of joy among the blest The face's lightning, or a smile is here. Those stings of care that his strong heart opprest, A desperate, Oh mee! drew from his deepe brest. XXVI. Oh mee! (thus bellow'd he) Oh mee! what great Portents before mine eyes their powers advance? And serves my purer sight, onely to beat Downe my proud thought, and leave it in a trance? Frowne I: and can great Nature keep her seat? And the gay starrs lead on their golden dance? Can His attempts above still prosp'rous be, Auspicious still, in spight of Hell and me? XXVII.