This is a repost of a poem by George Herbert. It's long, but it's a beautiful reflection on Christ's sacrifice. O H all ye , who passe by, whose eyes and minde To worldly things are sharp, but to me blinde; To me, who took eyes that I might you finde: Was ever grief like mine? The Princes of my people make a head Against their Maker: they do wish me dead, Who cannot wish, except I give them bread; Was ever grief like mine? Without me each one, who doth now me brave, Had to this day been an Egyptian slave. They use that power against me, which I gave: Was ever grief like mine? Mine own Apostle, who the bag did beare, Though he had all I had, did not forbeare To sell me also, and to put me there: Was ever grief like mine? For thirtie pence he did my death devise, Who at thre...