The Father of his mercy gave him for us, and he in love bestowed himself of us. The Father did will our peace, and he spared no pains. He came into the world poor, to make us rich. He was to the wicked a derision, that we with angels might be had in admiration. He was blasphemed, to make us blessed; buffeted and scorned, to make us secure in true comfort. He worked righteousness, that we might be free of wickedness. He was innocent, to procure us pardon, being penitent. His holiness is our happiness, his suffering our safety, his grace our good. He was here in trouble for us, his life painful and miserable, so his end for us doleful, and his torments intolerable. In all his life, that we read of, he did never laugh, but often lament. He mourned to see men’s madness, and wept for their woe. Here he sighed for to make us sing. He sobbed and sorrowed much to make us merry. He bore upon him unutterable torment patiently, that we might avoid the plagues of God eternally. His prayers were loud cries and strong, to make our prayers to pierce the heavens.
