Thus far did I come loaden with my sin,/ Nor could aught ease the grief that I was in,/ till I came hither. What a place is this?/ Must here be the beginning of my bliss?/ Must here the strings that bound it to to me, crack?/ Blessed cross! Blessed sepulchre! Blessed rather be/ the man that there was put to shame for me.
Christian, The Pilgrim’s Progress