Than e’er was thought by man! far other stars!
Stars animate, that govern these of fire;
Far other sun!—A sun, O how unlike
The Babe at Bethlehem! how unlike the Man,
That groan’d on Calvary!—Yet He it is;
That Man of Sorrows! O how changed! what pomp!
In grandeur terrible, all heaven descends!
And gods, ambitious, triumph in his train.
A swift archangel, with his golden wing,
As blots and clouds, that darken and disgrace 180