Angel

O Lord, how wonderful in depth and height, But most in man, how wonderful Thou art! With what a love, what soft persuasive might Victorious o'er the stubborn fleshly heart Thy tale complete of saints Thou dost provide To fill the thrones which angels lost through pride!

He lay a grovelling babe upon the ground, Polluted in the blood of his first sire, With his whole essence shattered and unsound, And, coiled around his heart, a demon dire, Which was not of his nature, but had skill To bind and form his opening mind to ill.

Then was I sent from heaven to set right The balance in his soul of truth and sin, And I have waged a long relentless fight, Resolved that death-environed spirit to win, Which from its fallen state, when all was lost, Had been repurchased at so dread a cost.

Oh what a shifting parti-coloured scene Of hope and fear, of triumph and dismay, Of recklessness and penitence, has been The history of that dreary, lifelong fray! And oh the grace to nerve him and to lead, How patient, prompt, and lavish at his need!

O man, strange composite of heaven and earth! Majesty dwarfed to baseness! fragrant flower Running to poisonous seed! and seeming worth Cloking corruption! weakness mastering power! Who never art so near to crime and shame, As when thou hast achieved some deed of name;-- How should ethereal natures comprehend A thing made up of spirit and of clay, Were we not tasked to nurse it and to tend, Linked one to one throughout its mortal day? More than the Seraph in his height of place, The Angel-guardian knows and loves the ransomed race.