Son of God and man,
When the world began,
First-born of love and hate,
Where was thy hid state?
Thou bliss by God denied,
Till the human pride
Snatched thee, and brought down
Heaven's breath for his own.
Spectre of the rose,
When thy red heart grows
Fierce, and thy delight
Makes a morn of night,
Do the stars grow pale,
Lest: thy leapings scale
Heaven, and thou again
Harness them in thy train?
