Charitas Nimia; or, The Dear Bargain

Lord, what is man? why should he cost Thee

So dear? what had his ruin lost Thee?

Lord, what is man, that Thou hast over-bought

So much a thing of naught?

Love is too kind, I see, and can

Make but a simple merchant-man.

'Twas for such sorry merchandise

Bold painters have put out his eyes.

Alas, sweet Lord! what were't to Thee

If there were no such worms as we?

Heav'n ne'er the less still Heav'n would be,

Should mankind dwell

In the deep hell.

What have his woes to do with Thee?

Let him go weep

O'er his own wounds;

Seraphims will not sleep,

Nor spheres let fall their faithful rounds.

Still would the youthful spirits sing,

And still Thy spacious palace ring;

Still would those beauteous ministers of light

Burn all as bright,

And bow their flaming heads before Thee;

Still thrones and dominations would adore Thee.

Still would those ever-wakeful sons of fire

Keep warm Thy praise

Both nights and days,

And teach Thy loved name to their noble lyre.

Let froward dust then do its kind,

And give itself for sport to the proud wind.

Why should a piece of peevish clay plead shares

In the eternity of Thy old cares?

Why shouldst Thou bow Thy awful breast to see

What mine own madnesses have done with me?

Should not the king still keep his throne

Because some desperate fool's undone?

Or will the world's illustrious eyes

Weep for every worm that dies?

Will the gallant sun

E'er the less glorious run?

Will he hang down his golden head,

Or e'er the sooner seek his western bed,

Because of some foolish fly

Grows wanton, and will die?

If I were lost in misery,

What was it to Thy heaven and Thee?

What was it to Thy precious blood

If my foul heart called for a flood?

What if my faithless soul and I

Would needs fall in

With guilt and sin;

What did the Lamb that He should die?

What did the Lamb that He should need,

When the wolf sins, Himself to bleed?

If my base lust

Bargained with death and well-beseeming dust,

Why should the white

Lamb's bosom write

The purple name

Of my sin's shame?

Why should His unstrained breast make good

My blushes with His own heart-blood?

O my Saviour, make me see

How dearly Thou has paid for me;

That, lost again, my life may prove,

As then in death, so now in love.