Charles H. Spurgeon on Psalms 8:4

"What is man?"

How poor, how rich, how abject, how august,

How complicate, how wonderful is man!

How passing wonder HE who made him such!

Who centred in our make such strange extremes!

From different natures marvelously mix'd,

Connexion exquisite of distant worlds!

Distinguish'd link in being's endless chain!

Midway from nothing to the Deity!

A beam ethereal, sullied and absorb'd,

Though sullied and dishonour'd, still divine!

Dim miniature of greatness absolute!

An heir of glory! a frail child of dust! Helpless, immortal! insect infinite!

A worm! a god! I tremble at myself,

And in myself am lost. Edward Young, 1681-1775. (Verses 4-8) —"What is man," etc.: —Man is ev'ry thing,

And more: he is a tree, yet bears no fruit;

A beast, yet is, or should be more:

Reason and speech we onely bring.

Parrats may thank us, if they are not mute,

They go upon the score.

Man is all symmetrie,

Full of proportions, one limbe to another,

And all to all the world besides:

Each part may call the farthest, brother.

For head with foot hath private amitie,

And both with moons and tides.

Nothing hath got so farre,

But man hath caught and kept it, as his prey.

His eyes dismount the highest starre:

He is in little all the sphere.

Herbs gladly cure our flesh, because that they

Finde their acquaintance there.

For us the windes do blow;

The earth doth rest, heav'n move, and fountains flow.

Nothing we see, but means our good,

As our delight, or as our treasure:

The whole is, either our cupboard of food,

Or cabinet of pleasure.

The starres have us to bed:

Night draws the curtain, which the sun withdraws:

Musick and light attend our head.

All things unto our flesh are kinde

In their descent and being; to our minde

In their ascent and cause.

Each thing is full of dutie:

Waters united are our navigation;

Distinguished, our habitation;

Below, our drink; above, our meat:

Both are our cleanlinesse. Hath one such beautie?

Then how are all things neat!

More servants wait on man,

Than he'l take notice of: in ev'ry path

He treads down that which doth befriend him,

When sicknesse makes him pale and wan,

Oh, mightie love! Man is one world, and hath

Another to attend him. George Herbert, 1593.