Temple by John Donne

With His kind mother, who partakes thy woe, / Joseph, turn back; see where your child doth sit, / Blowing, yea blowing out those sparks of wit, / Which Himself on the doctors did bestow. / The Word but lately could not speak, and lo! / It suddenly speaks wonders; whence comes it, / That all which was, and all which should be writ, / A shallow seeming child should deeply know? / His Godhead was not soul to His manhood, / Nor had time mellow'd Him to this ripeness; / But as for one which hath a long task, 'tis good, / With the sun to begin His business, / He in His age's morning thus began, / By miracles exceeding power of man.