Here you will find the Poem Satan of poet Richard Crashaw
Below the bottom of the great Abyss, There where one centre reconciles all things, The world's profound heart pants; there placed is Mischief's old Master! close about him clings A curled knot of embracing snakes, that kiss His correspondent cheeks: these loathsome strings Hold the perverse prince in eternal ties, Fast bound since first he forfeited the skies. Heaven's golden-winged herald late he saw To a poor Galilean virgin sent; How long the bright youth bowed, and with what awe Immortal flowers to her fair hand present: He saw the old Hebrew's womb neglect the law Of age and barrenness; and her Babe prevent His birth by his devotion, who began Betimes to be a saint before a man! Yet, on the other side, fain would he start Above his fears, and think it cannot be: He studies Scripture, strives to sound the heart And feel the pulse of every prophecy, He knows, but knows not how, or by what art The heaven-expecting ages hope to see A mighty Babe, whose pure, unspotted birth From a chaste virgin womb should bless the earth! But these vast mysteries his senses smother, And reason, - for what's faith to him! - devour, How she that is a maid should prove a mother, Yet keep inviolate her virgin flower: How God's eternal Son should be man's brother, Poseth his proudest intellectual power; How a pure spirit should incarnate be, And life itself wear death's frail livery. That the great angel-blinding light should shrink His blaze, to shine in a poor shepherd's eye; That the unmeasured God so low should sink As prisoner in a few poor rags to lie; milk should drink, Who feeds with nectar Heaven's fair family; That a vile manger his low bed should prove Who in a throne of stars thunders above. That He whom the sun serves, should faintly peep Through clouds of infant flesh: that He the old Eternal Word would be a child, and weep; That He who made the fire should feel the cold; That Heaven's high Majesty his court should keep In a clay-cottage, by each blast controlled: That Glory's self should serve our griefs and fears: And free Eternity submit to years.