2.
“Let his net that he hath hid catch himself: into that very
destruction let him fall.”
Himself deceived, the sire of death and lies
Deems not how soon on that sepulchral floor
He this his short-lived triumph shall deplore;
That Golgotha he fills with scornful cries
Is the gate of a better paradise
Which he shall never enter any more,
Of which that cruel wood is now the door.
That Cross he now delights in, to his eyes
Henceforth shall be a thing at which, recoiled,
He to the lowest depths shall sink despoiled,
As lightning falls from heaven; that Cross shall prove
The very sceptre of all-conquering love,
Marked on each brow, and reared the heart within,
A refuge from himself and powers of sin.
