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Now couldst thou pity and smile, where once but the scourge thou wouldst lay;
Now to thyself couldst show mercy, and up from all penance arise,
Knowing there runneth abroad a chastening flame from the skies.
Doubt not thou hast matter for revel, for once thou wouldst cage thee in steel,
And, wounded, wouldst seek out the balm and the cordial cunning to heal;
But now thou hast knowledge more sovran, more kind, than leech-craft can wield:
Never Design sent thee forth to be safe from the scath of the field,
But bade thee stand bare in the midst, and offer free way to all scath
Piercing thee inly—so only might Song have an outgoing path.