The characters of God were but idle, if all things around Him were perfection,
And virtues might slumber on like death, if they lacked the opportunities of evil.
There is One all-perfect, and but one; man dare not reason of His essence:
But there must be deficiencies in heaven, to leave room for progression in bliss:
A realm of unqualified BEST were a stagnant pool of being,
And the circle of absolute perfection, the abstract cipher of indolence.
Sin is an awful shadow, but it addeth new glories to the light;
Sin is a black foil, but it setteth off the jewelry of heaven:
Sin is the traitor that hath dragged the majesty of mercy into action;
Sin is the whelming argument, to justify the attribute of vengeance.