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!”