With pangs, strange pangs! delivered of her dead?
Hell howled, and Heaven that hour let fall a tear;
Heaven wept that man might smile! Heaven bled that man
Might never die!
Young.
My soul is caught:
Heaven’s sovereign blessings, clustering from the cross,
Rush on her in a throng, and close her round,
The prisoner of amaze!—In his blessed life
I see the path, and, in His death, the price,