What dreary thoughts we have of you,
that we think not your tears are true:
The resurrection and the life,
how could you know this lowly strife?
How mean we make the greatest thing,
we think no person can be king,
and yet of twelve you loved this one,
to Mary said, "Behold your son."
And this is hard to comprehend,
that God of God would condescend
unto the smallest state of man,
that womb should house the great I AM.
What carnal thoughts refuse your flesh
broken that we should be refreshed;
How odd we find the normal strange,
should think ourselves out of your range.
Tale Told 