Classic Poem

Humanity, the field of miseries,
Nature's abortive table of mischance,
Stage of complaint, the fair that doth enhance
The price of error and of vanities,
Whither? who seeth it? whither doth it rise?
Or do I see, or am I in a trance?
I see it far above the clouds advance,
And under it to tread the starry skies.
My dazzling thoughts do hold this sight for pain.
Vouchsafe me, Christ, to look: see, now again
Above the angels it hath distance won,
And left the winged cherubins behind,
And is within God's secret curtain gone,
And still it soareth: gaze no more my mind!