Vain man has mea­sured land and sea,
Fathomed the depths of states and kings,
O’er earth and heav’n ex­plored his way:
Yet there are two vast spa­cious things,
To mea­sure which doth more be­hove,
Yet few that sound them—sin and love.

Who would know sin, let him re­pair
To Cal­va­ry: there shall he see
A man so pained, that all his hair,
His skin, His gar­ments bloody be!
Sin is that rack, which forc­es pain
To hunt its food through ev­ery vein.

Wouldst thou know love? be­hold the God,
The Man, who for thy ran­som died:
Go taste the sac­red fount that flowed
Fast-stream­ing from His wound­ed side!
Love is that li­quor most di­vine,
God feels as blood, but I as wine.