Classic Poem

Master of earth and heaven, was this Thy boast?
The goal of power, the crown of honour this?
To know how deep the depth of sorrow is,
And glory most when Thou dost suffer most?
O mighty Master of the heavenly host,
Beneath Thy creature's foot thou liest low,
And then dost glory in Thy overthrow,
Nor count the battle won till all is lost.

And therefore dost Thou bid the world rejoice,
For Joy has risen, even from the dead,
And being risen makes the world divine.
O ye that sorrow, hear the Master's voice,
" I am your sorrow, and the tears you shed
Blood of My veins: your grief has made you Mine."