And vying malice with my gentleness,
Pick quarrels with their only happiness:
Was ever grief, & c.
I answer nothing, but with patience prove
If stony hearts will melt with gentle love. 90
But who does hawk at eagles with a dove?
Was ever grief, & c.
My silence rather doth augment their cry;
My dove doth back into my bosom fly,
Because the raging waters still are high: 95
Was ever grief, & c.
Hark how they cry aloud still, Crucify:
It is not fit he live a day, they cry,
Who cannot live less than eternally:
Was ever grief, & c. 100
Pilate a stranger holdeth off; but they,
Mine own dear people, cry, Away, away,
With noises confusèd frighting the day:
Was ever grief, & c.
Yet still they shout, and cry, and stop their ears, 105
Putting my life among their sins and fears,
And therefore wish my blood on them and theirs:
Was ever grief, & c.
See how spite cankers things. These words aright
Usèd, and wishèd, are the whole world’s light: 110
But honey is their gall, brightness their night:
Was ever grief, & c.
They choose a murderer, and all agree
In him to do themselves a courtesy:
For it was their own cause who killèd me: 115
Was ever grief, & c.
And a seditious murderer he was:
But I the Prince of peace; peace that doth pass
All understanding, more than heav’n doth glass:
Was ever grief, & c. 120
Why, Caesar is their only King, not I:
He clave the stony rock, when they were dry;
But surely not their hearts, as I well try:
Was ever grief, & c.
Ah! how they scourge me! yet my tenderness 125
Doubles each lash: and yet their bitterness
Winds up my grief to a mysteriousness:
Was ever grief, & c.
They buffet me, and box me as they list,
Who grasp the earth and heaven with my fist, 130
And never yet, whom I would punish, miss’d:
Was ever grief, & c.
Behold, they spit on me in scornful wise,
Who by my spittle gave the blind man eyes,
Leaving his blindness to mine enemies: 135
Was ever grief, & c.
My face they cover, though it be divine.
As Moses’ face was veilèd, so is mine,
Lest on their double-dark souls either shine:
Was ever grief, & c. 140
Servants and abjects flout me; they are witty:
Now prophesy who strikes thee, is their ditty.
So they in me deny themselves all pity:
Was ever grief, & c.
And now I am deliver’d unto death, 145
Which each one calls for so with utmost breath,
That he before me well nigh suffereth:
Was ever grief, & c.
Weep not, dear friends, since I for both have wept
When all my tears were blood, the while you slept: 150
Your tears for your own fortunes should be kept:
Was ever grief, & c.
The soldiers lead me to the common hall;
There they deride me, they abuse me all:
Yet for twelve heav’nly legions I could call: 155
Was ever grief, & c.
Then with a scarlet robe they me array;
Which shows my blood to be the only way,
And cordial left to repair man’s decay:
Was ever grief, & c. 160
Then on my head a crown of thorns I wear:
For these are all the grapes Sion doth bear,
Though I my vine planted and wat’red there:
Was ever grief, & c.
So sits the earth’s great curse in Adam’s fall 165
Upon my head: so I remove it all
From th’ earth unto my brows, and bear the thrall;
Was ever grief, & c.
Then with the reed they gave to me before,
They strike my head, the rock from whence all store 170
Of heav’nly blessings issue evermore:
Was ever grief, & c.
They bow their knees to me, and cry, Hail king:
Whatever scoffs or scornfulness can bring,
I am the floor, the sink, where they it fling: 175
Was ever grief, & c.
Yet since man’s sceptres are as frail as reeds,
And thorny all their crowns, bloody their weeds;
I, who am Truth, turn into truth their deeds:
Was ever grief, & c. 180
The soldiers also spit upon that face,
Which Angels did desire to have the grace
And Prophets once to see, but found no place:
Was ever grief, & c.
Thus trimmèd forth they bring me to the rout, 185
Who Crucify him, cry with one strong shout.
God holds his peace at man, and man cries out:
Was ever grief, & c.
They lead me in once more, and putting then
Mine own clothes on, they lead me out again. 190
Whom devils fly, thus is he toss’d of men:
Was ever grief, & c.
And now weary of sport, glad to engross
All spite in one, counting my life their loss,
They carry me to my most bitter cross: 195
Was ever grief, & c.
My cross I bear myself, until I faint:
Then Simon bears it for me by constraint,
The decreed burden of each mortal Saint:
Was ever grief, & c. 200
O all ye who pass by, behold and see;
Man stole the fruit, but I must climb the tree;
The tree of life to all, but only me:
Was ever grief, & c.
Lo, here I hang, charg’d with a world of sin, 205
The greater world o’ th’ two; for that came in
By words, but this by sorrow I must win:
Was ever grief, & c.
Such sorrow, as if sinful man could feel,
Or feel his part, he would not cease to kneel 210
Till all were melted, though he were all steel:
Was ever grief, & c.
But, O my God, my God! why leav’st thou me,
The son, in whom thou dost delight to be?
My God, my God – 215
Never was grief like mine
Shame tears my soul, my body many a wound;
Sharp nails pierce this, but sharper that confound;
Reproaches, which are free, while I am bound.
Was ever grief, & c. 220
Now heal thyself, Physician; now come down.
Alas! I did so, when I left my crown
And father’s smile for you, to feel his frown:
Was ever grief, & c.
In healing not myself, there doth consist 225
All that salvation, which ye now resist;
Your safety in my sickness doth subsist:
Was ever grief, & c.
Betwixt two thieves I spend my utmost breath,
As he that for some robbery suffereth. 230
Alas! what have I stolen from you? death:
Was ever grief, & c.
A king my title is, prefixed on high;
Yet by my subjects am condemned to die
A servile death in servile company: 235
Was ever grief, & c.
They gave me vinegar minglèd with gall,
But more with malice: yet, when they did call,
With Manna, Angel’s food, I fed them all:
Was ever grief, & c. 240
They part my garments, and by lot dispose
My coat, the t
ype of love, which once cured those
Who sought for help, never malicious foes:
Was ever grief, & c.
Nay, after death their spite shall further go; 245
For they will pierce my side, I full well know;
That as sin came, so Sacraments might flow:
Was ever grief, & c.
But now I die; now all is finishèd.
My woe, man’s weal: and now I bow my head. 250
Only let others say, when I am dead,
Never grief was like mine
THE THANKSGIVING.
O King of grief! (a title strange, yet true,
To thee of all kings only due)
O King of wounds! how shall I grieve for thee,
Who in all grief preventest me?
Shall I weep blood? why, thou hast wept such store 5
That all thy body was one door.
Shall I be scourgèd, flouted, boxèd, sold?
’Tis but to tell the tale is told.
My God, my God, why dost thou part from me?
Was such a grief as cannot be. 10
Shall I then sing, skipping, thy doleful story,
And side with thy triumphant glory?
Shall thy strokes be my stroking? thorns, my flower?
Thy rod, my posy? cross, my bower?
But how then shall I imitate thee, and 15
Copy thy fair, though bloody hand?
Surely I will revenge me on thy love,
And try who shall victorious prove.
If thou dost give me wealth, I will restore
All back unto thee by the poor. 20
If thou dost give me honour, men shall see,
The honour doth belong to thee.
I will not marry; or, if she be mine,
She and her children shall be thine.
My bosom friend, if he blaspheme thy name, 25
I will tear thence his love and fame.
One half of me being gone, the rest I give
Unto some Chapel, die or live.
As for thy passion – But of that anon,
When with the other I have done. 30
For thy predestination I’ll contrive,
That three years hence, if I survive,
I’ll build a spittle, or mend common ways,
But mend mine own without delays.
Then I will use the works of thy creation, 35
As if I used them but for fashion.
The world and I will quarrel; and the year
Shall not perceive, that I am here.
My music shall find thee, and ev’ry string
Shall have his attribute to sing; 40
That all together may accord in thee,
And prove one God, one harmony.
If thou shalt give me wit, it shall appear;
If thou hast giv’n it me, ’tis here.
Nay, I will read thy book, and never move 45
Till I have found therein thy love;
Thy art of love, which I’ll turn back on thee,
O my dear Saviour, Victory!
Then for thy passion – I will do for that –
Alas, my God, I know not what. 50
THE REPRISAL.
I have consider’d it, and find
There is no dealing with thy mighty passion:
For though I die for thee, I am behind;
My sins deserve the condemnation.
O make me innocent, that I 5
May give a disentanglèd state and free:
And yet thy wounds still my attempts defy,
For by thy death I die for thee.
Ah! was it not enough that thou
By thy eternal glory didst outgo me? 10
Couldst thou not grief’s sad conquests me allow,
But in all vict’ries overthrow me?
Yet by confession will I come
Into the conquest. Though I can do nought
Against thee, in thee I will overcome 15
The man, who once against thee fought.
THE AGONY.
Philosophers have measur’d mountains,
Fathom’d the depths of seas, of states, and kings,
Walk’d with a staff to heav’n, and tracèd fountains:
But there are two vast, spacious things,
The which to measure it doth more behove: 5
Yet few there are that sound them; Sin and Love.
Who would know Sin, let him repair
Unto Mount Olivet; there shall he see
A man so wrung with pains, that all his hair,
His skin, his garments bloody be. 10
Sin is that press and vice, which forceth pain
To hunt his cruel food through ev’ry vein.
Who knows not Love, let him assay
And taste that juice, which on the cross a pike
Did set again abroach; then let him say 15
If ever he did taste the like.
Love is that liquor sweet and most divine,
Which my God feels as blood; but I, as wine.
THE SINNER.
Lord, how I am all ague, when I seek
What I have treasur’d in my memory!
Since, if my soul make even with the week,
Each seventh note by right is due to thee.
I find there quarries of pil’d vanities, 5
But shreds of holiness, that dare not venture
To show their face, since cross to thy decrees:
There the circumference earth is, heav’n the centre.
In so much dregs the quintessence is small:
The spirit and good extract of my heart 10
Comes to about the many hundredth part.
Yet Lord restore thine image, hear my call:
And though my hard heart scarce to thee can groan,
Remember that thou once didst write in stone.
GOOD FRIDAY.
O my chief good,
How shall I measure out thy blood?
How shall I count what thee befell,
And each grief tell?
Shall I thy woes 5
Number according to thy foes?
Or, since one star showed thy first breath,
Shall all thy death?
Or shall each leaf,
Which falls in Autumn, score a grief? 10
Or cannot leaves, but fruit, be sign
Of the true vine?
Then let each hour
Of my whole life one grief devour;
That thy distress through all may run, 15
And be my sun.
Or rather let
My several sins their sorrows get;
That as each beast his cure doth know,
Each sin may so. 20
Since blood is fittest, Lord, to write
Thy sorrows in, and bloody fight;
My heart hath store, write there, where in
One box doth lie both ink and sin:
That when sin spies so many foes, 25
Thy whips, thy nails, thy wounds, thy woes,
All come to lodge there, sin may say,
No room for me, and fly away.
Sin being gone, O fill the place,
And keep possession with thy grace; 30
Lest sin take courage and return,
And all the writings blot or burn.
REDEMPTION.
Having been tenant long to a rich Lord,
Not thriving, I resolved to be bold,
And make a suit unto him, to afford
A new small-rented lease, and cancel th’ old.
In heaven at his manor I him sought: 5
They told me there, that he was lately gone
About some land, which he had dearly bought
Long since on earth, to take possession.
I straight return’d, and knowing his great birth,
Sought him accordingly in great resorts; 10
In cities, theatres, gardens, parks, and courts:
At length I heard a raggèd noise and m
irth
Of thieves and murderers: there I him espied,
Who straight, Your suit is granted, said, and died.
SEPULCHRE.
O Blessed body! Whither art thou thrown?
No lodging for thee, but a cold hard stone?
So many hearts on earth, and yet not one
Receive thee?
Sure there is room within our hearts good store; 5
For they can lodge transgressions by the score:
Thousands of toys dwell there, yet out of door
They leave thee.
But that which shows them large, shows them unfit.
Whatever sin did this pure rock commit, 10
Which holds thee now? Who hath indicted it
Of murder?
Where our hard hearts have took up stones to brain thee,
And missing this, most falsely did arraign thee;
Only these stones in quiet entertain thee, 15
And order.
And as of old, the law by heav’nly art
Was writ in stone; so thou, which also art
The letter of the word, find’st no fit heart
To hold thee. 20
Yet do we still persist as we began,
And so should perish, but that nothing can,
Though it be cold, hard, foul, from loving man
Withhold thee.
EASTER.
Rise heart; thy Lord is risen. Sing his praise
Without delays,
Who takes thee by the hand, that thou likewise
With him mayst rise:
That, as his death calcinèd thee to dust, 5
His life may make thee gold, and much more, just.
Awake, my lute, and struggle for thy part
With all thy art.
The cross taught all wood to resound his name,
Who bore the same. 10
His stretchèd sinews taught all strings, what key
Is best to celebrate this most high day.
Consort both heart and lute, and twist a song
Pleasant and long:
Or since all music is but three parts vied 15
And multiplied,
O let thy blessed Spirit bear a part,
And make up our defects with his sweet art.
I got me flowers to straw thy way;
I got me boughs off many a tree: 20
But thou wast up by break of day,
And brought’st thy sweets along with thee.
The Sun arising in the East,
Though he give light, and th’ East perfume;
If they should offer to contest 25
With thy arising, they presume.
Can there be any day but this,
Though many suns to shine endeavour?
We count three hundred, but we miss:
There is but one, and that one ever. 30
George Herbert- Collected Poetical Works Page 5
