The poem is likewise very diffuse—­again a common fault with women of power; for indeed the faculty of compressing thought into crystalline form is one of the rarest gifts of artistic genius.  It consists of a hundred and ten stanzas, from which I shall gather and arrange a few.

    He placed all rest, and had no resting place;
    He healed each pain, yet lived in sore distress;
    Deserved all good, yet lived in great disgrace;
    Gave all hearts joy, himself in heaviness;
      Suffered them live, by whom himself was slain: 
      Lord, who can live to see such love again?

    Whose mansion heaven, yet lay within a manger;
    Who gave all food, yet sucked a virgin’s breast;
    Who could have killed, yet fled a threatening danger;
    Who sought all quiet by his own unrest;
      Who died for them that highly did offend him,
      And lives for them that cannot comprehend him.

    Who came no further than his Father sent him,
    And did fulfil but what he did command him;
    Who prayed for them that proudly did torment him
    For telling truly of what they did demand him;
      Who did all good that humbly did intreat him,
      And bare their blows, that did unkindly beat him.

    Had I but seen him as his servants did,
    At sea, at land, in city, or in field,
    Though in himself he had his glory hid,
    That in his grace the light of glory held,
      Then might my sorrow somewhat be appeased,
      That once my soul had in his sight been pleased.

    No!  I have run the way of wickedness,
    Forgetting what my faith should follow most;
    I did not think upon thy holiness,
    Nor by my sins what sweetness I have lost. 
      Oh sin! for sin hath compassed me about,
      That, Lord, I know not where to find thee out.

    Where he that sits on the supernal throne,
    In majesty most glorious to behold,
    And holds the sceptre of the world alone,
    Hath not his garments of imbroidered gold,
      But he is clothed with truth and righteousness,
      Where angels all do sing with joyfulness,

    Where heavenly love is cause of holy life,
    And holy life increaseth heavenly love;
    Where peace established without fear or strife,
    Doth prove the blessing of the soul’s behove;[67]
      Where thirst nor hunger, grief nor sorrow dwelleth,
      But peace in joy, and joy in peace excelleth.

Had all the poem been like these stanzas, I should not have spoken so strongly concerning its faults.  There are a few more such in it.  It closes with a very fantastic use of musical terms, following upon a curious category of the works of nature as praising God, to which I refer for the sake of one stanza, or rather of one line in the stanza: