The glorious angels are above his sway,
Their bliss to minister—to serve—obey;
We, only we, poor children of a day,
Tread haughtily the ground for our sakes curst,
And wear with pride the chains our Surety burst!
Would that the world could know and truly prize
That which is great in the Creator’s eyes!
The poor man, bending o’er his scanty store,
Who, with God’s presence blest, desires no more,
Who feels his sins—his weakness,—though his ways