SONNET VIII.
Oh! when shall love to Thee be my best guide,
Redeemer, Saviour! ever blessed Lord!
By all the powers in earth and heaven adored?
When flowed the dear blood from Thy wounded side—
By heaven forsaken and by man denied—
Why were its crimson streams so freely poured,
If man by love was not to be restored?
O mighty theme! that doth debase my pride,
And pour contempt on all the things of earth:
If angels are not faultless in Thy sight,
How much less we who travail from our birth,
Walking apart from Love and its clear light?
Yet not for them, but us, was He once slain,
That we, redeemed from sin, might live again.