Sonnet XIX: On the Sepulchre of Christ, No. I

O you who love the part more than the whole,
And love yourself more than all human kind,
Who persecute good men with prudence blind
Because they combat your malign control,
See Scribes and Pharisees, each impious school,
Each sect profane, o'erthrown by his great mind,
Whose best our good to Deity refined,
The while they thought Death triumphed o'er his soul.
Deem you that only you have thought and sense,
While heaven and all its wonders, sun and earth,
Scorned in your dullness, lack intelligence?
Fool! what produced you? These things gave you birth:
So have they mind and God. Repent; be wise!
Man fights but ill with Him who rules the skies.