Henry Charles Beeching, ed. (1859–1919). Lyra Sacra: A Book of Religious Verse. 1903.
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WHAT 1 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: | 5 |
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. | |
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He is a path, if any be misled; | |
He is a robe, if any naked be; | 10 |
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; | 15 |
A pleasure without loss, a treasure without stealth. | |
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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 heav’n awakèd all his eyes, | 20 |
To see another sun at midnight rise | |
On earth? was never sight of pareil fame: | |
For God before man like Himself did frame, | |
But God Himself now like a mortal man became. | |
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A child He was, and had not learned to speak, | 25 |
That with His word the world before did make: | |
His mother’s arms Him bore, He was so weak, | |
That with one hand the vaults of heav’n could shake. | |
See how small room my infant Lord doth take, | |
Whom all the world is not enough to hold. | 30 |
Who of His years, or of His age hath told? | |
Never such age so young, never a child so old. | |
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And yet but newly He was infanted, | |
And yet already He was sought to die; | |
Yet scarcely born, already banished; | 35 |
Not able yet to go, and forced to fly: | |
But scarcely fled away, when by and by, | |
The tyrant’s sword with blood is all defil’d, | |
And Rachel for her sons, with fury wild, | |
Cries, O thou cruel king, and O my sweetest child! | 40 |
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Egypt His nurse became, where Nilus springs, | |
Who straight, to entertain the rising sun, | |
The hasty harvest in his bosom brings; | |
But now for drought the fields were all undone, | |
And now with waters all is overrun: | 45 |
So fast the Cynthian mountains pour’d their snow, | |
When once they felt the sun so near them glow, | |
That Nilus Egypt lost, and to a sea did grow. | |
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The angels caroll’d loud their song of peace, | |
The cursèd oracles were strucken dumb; | 50 |
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, | 55 |
Where gold, to make their prince a crown, they all present. | |