The Angel Ended, And In

It Was The Winter Wild, While The Heaven-born Child, All Meanly Wrapt In The Rude Manger Lies.

O Execrable Son! So To Aspire Above His Brethren, To Himself Assuming Authority Usurped, From God Not Given. He Gave Us Only Over Beast, Fish, Fowl, Dominion Absolute; That Right We Hold By His Donation; But Man Over Men He Made Not Lord; Such Title To Himself Reserving, Human Left From Human Free.

Thus With The Year Seasons Return; But Not To Me Returns Day, Or The Sweet Approach Of Even Or Morn, Or Sight Of Vernal Bloom Or Summer's Rose, Or Flocks, Or Herds, Or Human Face Divine; But Cloud Instead, And Ever-during Dark Surrounds Me; From The Cheerful Ways Of Men Cut Off, And For The Book Of Knowledge Fair Presented With A Universal Blank Of Nature's Works, To Me Expung'd And Raz'd, And Wisdom At One Entrance Quite Shut Out.

The Starry Cope Of Heaven.

So Sinks The Day-star In The Ocean Bed, And Yet Anon Repairs His Drooping Head, And Tricks His Beams, And With New-spangled Ore Flames In The Forehead Of The Morning Sky.