The Better Part

Long fed on boundless hopes, O race of man, How angrily thou spurn'st all simpler fare! 'Christ,' some one says, 'was human as we are; No judge eyes us from Heaven, our sin to scan; We live no more when we have done our span.'-- 'Well, then, for Christ,' thou answerest, 'who can care? From sin, which Heaven records not, why forbear? Live we like brutes our life without a plan!' So answerest thou; but why not rather say, 'Hath man no second life?--Pitch this one high! Sits there no judge in Heaven our sin to see?-- More strictly, then, the inward judge obey! Was Christ a man like us?--Ah! let us try If we then, too, can be such men as he!'