Before this world's great frame, in which all things
Are now contained, found any being-place,
Ere flitting Time could wag his eyas wings
About that mighty bound which doth embrace
The rolling sphere, 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 sensual 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.
With Him He reigned before all time prescribed,
In endless glory and immortal might,
Together with that Third from them derived,
Most wise, most holy, most Almighty Sprite,
Whose kingdom's throne no thoughts of earthly wight
Can comprehend, much less my trembling verse,
With equal words can hope it to rehearse.
Yet, O most blessed Spirit! pure lamp of light,
Eternal spring of grace and wisdom true,
Vouchsafe to send into my barren sprite
Some little drop of thy celestial dew,
That may my rhymes with sweet infuse imbrue,
And give me words equal unto my thought,
To tell the marvels by thy mercy wrought.
Yet being pregnant still with powerful grace,
And full of fruitful Love, that loves to get
Things like Himself, and to enlarge his race,
His second brood, though not of power so great,
Yet full of beauty, next He did beget,
An infinite increase of angels bright,
All glistering glorious in their Maker's light.
To them the heaven's illimitable height
(Not this round heaven, which we from hence behold,
Adorned with thousand lamps of burning light,
And with ten thousand gems of shining gold)
He gave as their inheritance to hold,
That they might serve Him in eternal bliss,
And be partakers of those joys of his.
There they in their trinal triplicities
About Him wait, and on his will depend,
Either with nimble wings to cut the skies,
When He them on his messages doth send,
Or on his own dread presence to attend,
Where they behold the glory of his light,
And carol hymns of love both day and night.
Both day and night is unto them all one,
For He his beams doth unto them extend,
That darkness here appeareth never none;
Nor hath their day, nor hath their bliss, an end,
But there their tameless time in pleasure spend;
Nor ever should their happiness decay,
Had not they dared their Lord to disobey.
But pride, impatient of long-resting peace,
Did puff them up with greedy bold ambition,
That they 'gan cast their state how to increase
Above the fortune of their first condition,
And sit in God's own seat without commission :
The brightest angel, even the child of Light,
Drew millions more against their God to fight.
The Almighty seeing their so bold assay,
Kindled the flame of his consuming ire,
And with his only breath them blew away
From heaven's light, to which they did aspire,
To deepest hell, and lake of damnéd fire,
Where they in darkness and dread horror dwell,
Hating the happy light from which they fell.
So that next offspring of the Maker's love,
Next to Himself in glorious degree,
Degenering to hate fell from above
Through pride (for pride and love
And now of sin to all ensample be:
How then can sinful flesh itself assure,
Sith purest angels fell to be impure?
But that eternal fount of love and grace,
Still floweth from his goodness unto all,
Now, seeing left a waste and empty place
In his wide palace, through those angels' fall,
Cast to supply the same, and to install
A new unknowén colony therein,
Whose root from earth's base ground-work should begin.
Therefore of clay, base, vile, and next to nought, Yet formed by wond'rous skill, and by his might, According to a heavenly pattern wrought,
Which He had fashioned in his wise foresight, He man did make, and breathed a living sprite Into his face, most beautiful and fair,
Endued with wisdom, riches heavenly rare.
Such He him made, that he resemble might
Himself, as mortal thing immortal could;
Him to be lord of every living wight
He made by love out of his own like mould,
In whom He might his mighty self behold;
For Love doth love the thing beloved to see
That like itself in lovely shape may be.
But man, forgetful of his Maker's grace,
No less than angels whom he did ensue,
Fell from the hope of promised heavenly place
Into the mouth of Death, to sinners due,
And all his offspring into thraldom threw,
Where they for ever should in bonds remain
Of never-dead, yet ever-dying pain.
Till that great Lord of Love which him at first
Made of mere love, and after liked well,
Seeing him lie like creature long accurst
In that deep horror of despairéd hell,
Him, wretch in dool would let no longer dwell, But cast out of that bondage to redeem,
pay the price all were his debt extreme.
Out of the bosom of eternal bliss,
In which He reignéd with his glorious Sire,
He down descended, like a most demyss
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.
In flesh at first the guilt committed was,
Therefore in flesh it must be satisfied;
Nor sprite nor angel, though they man surpass,
Could make amends to God for man's misguide,
But only man himself, whose self did slide;
So taking flesh of sacred Virgin's womb,
For man's dear self He did a man become.
And that most blessed body, which was born
Without all blemish or reproachful blame,
He freely gave to be both rent and torn
Of cruel hands, who with despiteful shame
Reviling Him, that them most vile became,
At length him nailed on a gallows tree,
And slew the Just by most unjust decree.
O huge and most unspeakable impression
Of Love's deep wound, that pierced the piteous heart Of that dear Lord with so entire affection, And sharply lancing every inner part, Dolours of death into his soul did dart, Doing Him die that never it deserved,
To free his foes that from his hest had swerved!
What heart can feel least touch of so sore launch,
Or thought can think the depth of so dear wound?
Whose bleeding source their streams yet never staunch,
But still do flow, and freshly still redound,
To heal the sores of sinful souls unsound,
And cleanse the guilt of that infected crime
Which was enrooted in that fleshy slime.
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,
How can we Thee requite for all this good?
Or what can prize that thy most precious blood?
Yet nought thou ask'st in lieu of all this love,
But love of us for guerdon of thy pain:
Aye me! what can us less than that behove?
Had he requiréd life for us again,
Had it been wrong to ask his own with gain?
He gave us life, He it restoréd lost;
Then life were least that us so little cost.
But He our life hath left unto us free;
Free that was thrall, and blessed that was bond,
Nor aught demands but that we loving be,
As He himself hath loved us aforehand,
And bound thereto with an eternal band,
Him first to love that was so dearly bought,
And next our brethren to his image wrought.
Him first to love great right and reason is,
Who first to us our life and being gave,
And after, when we faréd had amiss,
Us wretches from the second death did save;
And last, the food of life, which now we have,
Even He himself, in his dear sacrament,
To feed our hungry souls unto us lent.
Then next to love our brethren that were made
Of that self mould and that self Maker's hand
That we, and to the same again shall fade,
Where they shall have like heritage of land,
However here on higher steps we stand,
Which also were with self-same price redeemed
That we, however, of us light esteemed.
And were they not, yet sith that loving Lord
Commanded us to love them for his sake,
Even for his sake, and for his sacred word,
Which in his last bequest He to us spake,
We should them love, and with their needs partake,
Knowing that whatsoe'er to them we give,
We give to Him by whom we all do live.
Such mercy He by his most holy reed
Unto us taught, and, to approve it true,
Ensampled it by his most righteous deed,
Shewing us mercy (miserable crew!)
That we the like should to the wretches shew,
And love our brethren, thereby to approve
How much Himself that loved us we love.
Then rouse thyself, O Earth, out of thy soil,
In which thou wallow'st like to filthy swine,
And dost thy mind in dirty pleasures moyl,
Unmindful of that dearest Lord of thine;
Lift up to Him thy heavy clouded eyne,
That thou this sovereign bounty may'st behold,
And read, through love, his mercies manifold.
Begin from first, when He encradled was
In simple cratch, wrapped in a wad of hay,
Between the toilful ox and humble ass,
And in what rags and in how base array,
The glory of our heavenly riches lay,
When Him the silly shepherds came to see,
Whom greatest princes sought on lowest knee.
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