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,