About divinely foolish things,
She that gives her substance all
For love, and laughs to find it small,
She that drew God’s Son to be
A butt, a jest on Calvary,
And ’neath the leper’s guise doth know
The King in his incognito.
The world is grown too wise, and we
Go our sad ways sensibly.
O, would that our lean souls might win