1 O! sight of Anguish, view it near,
What weeping Innocence is here!
A Manger for a Bed,
The Brutes yield Refuge to his Woe,
Men the worst Brutes no Pity shew,
Nor give him friendly Aid.
2 Why do no rapid Thunders roll?
Why do no Tempests rack the Pole?
O Miracle of Grace!
Or why no Angel on the Wing?
Warm for the honour of their King,
T' exterpate all the Race.
3 Did He, that Infant bath'd in Tears,
Call into Form the rolling Spheres?
Did Seraphs own'd his Nod?
Helpless he calls, but Man delays;
The moral Chaos disobeys,
This Offspring of a God.
4 Say, radiant Seraphs, thron'd in Light,
Did Love e'er tow'r so high a Flight!
Or Glory sink so low!
This Wonder Angels scarce declare,
Angels the Rapture scarce can bear,
Or equal Praise bestow.
5 Redemption 'tis a boundless Theme!
Thou boundless Mind, our Hearts inflame
With Ardour from Above;
Words are but faint, let joy express;
Vain is meer Joy, let Actions bless,
This Prodigy of Love.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | O! sight of Anguish, view it near |
Title: | The Infant Saviour, a Carol |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1774 |
Notes: | Public Domain. |