hereal, "man" would stand a man alone;
Higher must he seek for kinship--thought amazing--on God's Throne!

Does it not attract your nature, is it not a rest to see
One e'en there at glory's summit, yet with human form like thee?
Form assumed when love compelled Him to take up your hopeless case,
Form He never will relinquish; ever shall it voice His grace.

Wondrous grace! thus making heaven but our Father's house prepared;
Since, by One who tells God's love, in wounded human form 'tis shared.
See, His Head is crowned with glory! yet a glory not distinct
From an hour of deepest suffering, and a crown of thorns succinct.

Draw still closer, with the rev'rence born of love and holy fear;
Look into those tender eyes which have been dimmed with human tear--
Tears in which _ye_ see a glory hidden from th' Angelic powers;
Ours alone the state that caused them, their beauty then alone is ours.

Look once more upon that Head: finds memory no attraction there
In the time when, homeless-wandering, night-dews filled that very hair?
Brightest glories sparkle round it--crowned with honor now; and yet,
Once it found its only pillow on storm-tossed Gennesaret!

See that Hand! it once grasped Peter's as he sank beneath the wave,--
Snatched the widow's son at Nain from the portal of the grave,--
Touched with healing grace the leper, gave the light to him born dark.
_Deeper love to you is spoken in that nail-print--precious mark_!

Let your tender gaze now rest on those dear Feet that erstwhile trod
All the weary, painful journey leading Him _from_ God _to_ God;
Took Him in His gentle grace wherever need and suffering thronged,
Or one lonely soul was found who for the living water longed.

Those the very Feet once bathed with a pardoned sinner's tears,
And anointed, too, with spikenard speaking Mary's love and fears;
Took Him weary on His journey under Sychar's noontide heat,
Till the thirsty quenched His thirsting, and the hungry gave Him meat.

Blessed Feet! 'tis only _sinners_ see the depth of beauty there;
_Angels_ never have bowed o'er them with a penitential tear.
Angels may regard the nail-print, with a holy, reverent calm;
Ye who read the _love_ it tells of, _must_ break forth with thankful psalm.

Draw yet nearer, look more fondly; yea, e'en nestle and abide
In that covert from the storm-blast, in the haven of His Side.
That deep wound speaks man's g