Classic Poem

Behould the father is His daughter's sonne,
The bird that built the nest is hatchd therein,
The old of yeres an hower hath not outrunne,
Eternall life to live doth nowe beginn,
The Worde is dumm, the Mirth of heaven doth weepe,
Mighte feeble is, and Force doth fayntely creepe.

O dyinge soules! behould your living springe!
O dazeled eyes! behould your sunne of grace!
Dull eares, attend what word this Word doth bringe!
Upp, heavy hartes, with joye your joy embrace!
From death, from darke, from deaphnesse, from despayres,
This Life, this Light, this Word, this Joy repaires.

Gift better then Him self God doth not knowe,
Gift better then his God no man can see;
This gift doth here the giver given bestowe,
Gift to this gift lett ech receiver bee:
God is my gift, Him self He freely gave me,
God's gift am I, and none but God shall have me.

Man altred was by synn from man to best; beast
Beste's foode is haye, haye is all mortall fleshe;
Now God is fleshe, and lyes in maunger prest,
As haye the brutest synner to refreshe:
O happy feilde wherein this foder grewe,
Whose taste doth us from beastes to men renewe!