The scorn, the scoffs, of men before?
So meek, forgiving, godlike, high,
So glorious in humility?
4 The bending angels stooped to see
The lisping infant clasp thy knee,
And smile, as in a father’s eye,
Upon thy mild divinity.
5 And death, which sets the prisoner free,
Was pang and scoff and scorn to thee;
Yet love through all thy torture glowed,