Classic Poem

Till twelve yeres' age, how Christ His childhood spent
All earthly pennes unworthy were to write;
Such actes to mortall eyes He did presente,
Whose worth not men but angells must recite:
No nature's blottes, no childish faultes defilde,
Where Grace was guide, and God did play the childe.

In springing lockes lay couched hoary witt,
In semblance younge, a grave and auncient port;
In lowly lookes high maiestie did sitt,
In tender tunge, sound sence of sagest sort:
Nature imparted all that she could teache,
And God supplyd where Nature coulde not reach.

His mirth, of modest meane a mirrhour was,
His sadnes, tempred with a mylde aspecte;
His eye, to trye ech action was a glasse,
Whose lookes did good approue and bad correct;
His nature's giftes, His grace, His word, and deede,
Well shew'd that all did from a God proceede.