LORD, when Thou didst Thyself undress, <br />Laying by Thy robes of glory, <br />To make us more, Thou wouldst be less, <br />And becam'st a woful story. <br /> <br />To put on clouds instead of light, <br />And clothe the morning-star with dust, <br />Was a translation of such height <br />As, but in Thee, was ne'er express'd. <br /> <br />Brave worms and earth ! that thus could have <br />A God enclos'd within your cell, <br />Your Maker pent up in a grave, <br />Life lock'd in death, heav'n in a shell ! <br /> <br />Ah, my dear Lord ! what couldst thou spy <br />In this impure, rebellious clay, <br />That made Thee thus resolve to die <br />For those that kill Thee every day ? <br /> <br />O what strange wonders could Thee move <br />To slight Thy precious blood, and breath ? <br />Sure it was love, my Lord ! for love <br />Is only stronger far than death !<br /><br />Henry Vaughan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-incarnation-and-passion/
