Yea, take him bravely from the hand
That reach'd him forth from nothingness,
That took his tired soul to keep
All night, then reach'd him out from sleep
And sat him equal in the land;
Sent out from where the angels are,
A soul new-born, without one whit
Of bought or borrow'd character.
Ah, bless us! if we only could
As ready spin and willing weave