George Herbert- Collected Poetical Works

by George Herbert

  Become a verse? Is there in truth no beauty?

  Is all good structure in a winding stair?

  May no lines pass, except they do their duty

  Not to a true, but painted chair? 5

  Is it no verse, except enchanted groves

  And sudden arbours shadow coarse-spun lines?

  Must purling streams refresh a lover’s loves?

  Must all be veil’d, while he that reads, divines,

  Catching the sense at two removes? 10

  Shepherds are honest people; let them sing:

  Riddle who list, for me, and pull for Prime:

  I envy no man’s nightingale or spring;

  Nor let them punish me with loss of rhyme,

  Who plainly say, My God, My King. 15

  EMPLOYMENT I.

  If as a flower doth spread and die,

  Thou wouldst extend me to some good,

  Before I were by frost’s extremity

  Nipt in the bud;

  The sweetness and the praise were thine; 5

  But the extension and the room,

  Which in thy garland I should fill, were mine

  At thy great doom.

  For as thou dost impart thy grace,

  The greater shall our glory be. 10

  The measure of our joys is in this place,

  The stuff with thee.

  Let me not languish then, and spend

  A life as barren to thy praise,

  As is the dust, to which that life doth tend, 15

  But with delays.

  All things are busy; only I

  Neither bring honey with the bees,

  Nor flow’rs to make that, nor the husbandry

  To water these. 20

  I am no link of thy great chain,

  But all my company is a weed.

  Lord place me in thy consort; give one strain

  To my poor reed.

  THE HOLY SCRIPTURES I.

  O Book! infinite sweetness! let my heart

  Suck ev’ry letter, and a honey gain,

  Precious for any grief in any part;

  To clear the breast, to mollify all pain.

  Thou art all health, health thriving till it make 5

  A full eternity: thou art a mass

  Of strange delights, where we may wish and take.

  Ladies, look here; this is the thankful glass,

  That mends the looker’s eyes: this is the well

  That washes what it shows. Who can endear 10

  Thy praise too much? thou art heav’n’s lidger here,

  Working against the states of death and hell.

  Thou art joy’s handsel: heav’n lies flat in thee,

  Subject to ev’ry mounter’s bended knee.

  THE HOLY SCRIPTURES II.

  O that I knew how all thy lights combine,

  And the configurations of their glory!

  Seeing not only how each verse doth shine,

  But all the constellations of the story.

  This verse marks that, and both do make a motion 5

  Unto a third, that ten leaves off doth lie:

  Then as dispersèd herbs do watch a potion,

  These three make up some Christian’s destiny:

  Such are thy secrets, which my life makes good,

  And comments on thee: for in ev’ry thing 10

  Thy words do find me out, and parallels bring,

  And in another make me understood.

  Stars are poor books, and oftentimes do miss:

  This book of stars lights to eternal bliss.

  WHITSUNDAY.

  Listen sweet Dove unto my song,

  And spread thy golden wings in me;

  Hatching my tender heart so long,

  Till it get wing, and fly away with thee.

  Where is that fire which once descended 5

  On thy Apostles? thou didst then

  Keep open house, richly attended,

  Feasting all comers by twelve chosen men.

  Such glorious gifts thou didst bestow,

  That th’ earth did like a heav’n appear: 10

  The stars were coming down to know

  If they might mend their wages, and serve here.

  The sun, which once did shine alone,

  Hung down his head, and wisht for night,

  When he beheld twelve suns for one 15

  Going about the world, and giving light.

  But since those pipes of gold, which brought

  That cordial water to our ground,

  Were cut and martyr’d by the fault

  Of those, who did themselves through their side wound, 20

  Thou shut’st the door, and keep’st within;

  Scarce a good joy creeps through the chink:

  And if the braves of conqu’ring sin

  Did not excite thee, we should wholly sink.

  Lord, though we change, thou art the same; 25

  The same sweet God of love and light:

  Restore this day, for thy great name,

  Unto his ancient and miraculous right.

  GRACE.

  My stock lies dead, and no increase

  Doth my dull husbandry improve:

  O let thy graces without cease

  Drop from above!

  If still the sun should hide his face, 5

  Thy house would but a dungeon prove,

  Thy works night’s captives: O let grace

  Drop from above!

  The dew doth ev’ry morning fall;

  And shall the dew out-strip thy Dove? 10

  The dew, for which grass cannot call,

  Drop from above.

  Death is still working like a mole,

  And digs my grave at each remove:

  Let grace work too, and on my soul 15

  Drop from above.

  Sin is still hammering my heart

  Unto a hardness, void of love:

  Let suppling grace, to cross his art,

  Drop from above. 20

  O come! for thou dost know the way.

  Or if to me thou wilt not move,

  Remove me, where I need not say,

  Drop from above.

  PRAISE I.

  To write a verse or two, is all the praise,

  That I can raise:

  Mend my estate in any ways,

  Thou shalt have more.

  I go to Church; help me to wings, and I 5

  Will thither fly;

  Or, if I mount unto the sky,

  I will do more.

  Man is all weakness; there is no such thing

  As Prince or King: 10

  His arm is short; yet with a sling

  He may do more.

  An herb distill’d, and drunk, may dwell next door,

  On the same floor,

  To a brave soul: Exalt the poor, 15

  They can do more.

  O raise me then! Poor bees, that work all day,

  Sting my delay,

  Who have a work, as well as they,

  And much, much more. 20

  AFFLICTION II.

  Kill me not ev’ry day,

  Thou Lord of life; since thy one death for me

  Is more than all my deaths can be,

  Though I in broken pay

  Die over each hour of Methusalem’s stay. 5

  If all men’s tears were let

  Into one common sewer, sea, and brine;

  What were they all, compared to thine?

  Wherein if they were set,

  They would discolour thy most bloody sweat. 10

  Thou art my grief alone,

  Thou Lord conceal it not: and as thou art

  All my delight, so all my smart:

  Thy cross took up in one,

  By way of imprest, all my future moan. 15

  MATINS.

  I cannot ope mine eyes,

  But thou art ready there to catch

  My morning-soul and sacrifice:

  Then we must needs for that day make a ma
tch.

  My God, what is a heart? 5

  Silver, or gold, or precious stone,

  Or star, or rainbow, or a part

  Of all these things, or all of them in one?

  My God, what is a heart,

  That thou shouldst it so eye, and woo, 10

  Pouring upon it all thy art,

  As if that thou hadst nothing else to do?

  Indeed man’s whole estate

  Amounts (and richly) to serve thee:

  He did not heav’n and earth create, 15

  Yet studies them, not him by whom they be.

  Teach me thy love to know;

  That this new light, which now I see,

  May both the work and workman show:

  Then by a sunbeam I will climb to thee. 20

  SIN II.

  O that I could a sin once see!

  We paint the devil foul, yet he

  Hath some good in him, all agree.

  Sin is flat opposite to th’ Almighty, seeing

  It wants the good of virtue, and of being. 5

  But God more care of us hath had:

  If apparitions make us sad,

  By sight of sin we should grow mad.

  Yet as in sleep we see foul death, and live:

  So devils are our sins in perspective. 10

  EVENSONG.

  Blest be the God of love,

  Who gave me eyes, and light, and power this day,

  Both to be busy, and to play.

  But much more blest be God above,

  Who gave me sight alone, 5

  Which to himself he did deny:

  For when he sees my ways, I die:

  But I have got his son, and he hath none.

  What have I brought thee home

  For this thy love? have I discharg’d the debt, 10

  Which this day’s favour did beget?

  I ran; but all I brought, was foam.

  Thy diet, care, and cost

  Do end in bubbles, balls of wind;

  Of wind to thee whom I have crost, 15

  But balls of wild-fire to my troubled mind.

  Yet still thou goest on.

  And now with darkness closest weary eyes,

  Saying to man, It doth suffice:

  Henceforth repose; your work is done. 20

  Thus in thy ebony box

  Thou dost enclose us, till the day

  Put our amendment in our way,

  And give new wheels to our disorder’d clocks.

  I muse, which shows more love, 25

  The day or night: that is the gale, this th’ harbour;

  That is the walk, and this the arbour;

  Or that the garden, this the grove.

  My God, thou art all love.

  Not one poor minute ‘scapes thy breast, 30

  But brings a favour from above;

  And in this love, more than in bed, I rest.

  CHURCH-MONUMENTS.

  While that my soul repairs to her devotion,

  Here I intomb my flesh, that it betimes

  May take acquaintance of this heap of dust;

  To which the blast of death’s incessant motion,

  Fed with the exhalation of our crimes, 5

  Drives all at last. Therefore I gladly trust

  My body to this school, that it may learn

  To spell his elements, and find his birth

  Written in dusty heraldry and lines:

  Which dissolution sure doth best discern, 10

  Comparing dust with dust, and earth with earth.

  These laugh at Jet and Marble put for signs,

  To sever the good fellowship of dust,

  And spoil the meeting. What shall point out them,

  When they shall bow, and kneel, and fall down flat 15

  To kiss those heaps, which now they have in trust?

  Dear flesh, while I do pray, learn here thy stem

  And true descent; that when thou shalt grow fat,

  And wanton in thy cravings, thou mayst know,

  That flesh is but the glass, which holds the dust 20

  That measures all our time; which also shall

  Be crumbled into dust. Mark here below

  How tame these ashes are, how free from lust,

  That thou mayst fit thyself against thy fall.

  CHURCH-MUSIC.

  Sweetest of sweets, I thank you: when displeasure

  Did through my body wound my mind,

  You took me thence, and in your house of pleasure

  A dainty lodging me assign’d.

  Now I in you without a body move, 5

  Rising and falling with your wings:

  We both together sweetly live and love,

  Yet say sometimes, God help poor Kings.

  Comfort, I’ll die; for if you post from me,

  Sure I shall do so, and much more: 10

  But if I travel in your company,

  You know the way to heaven’s door.

  CHURCH-LOCK AND KEY.

  I know it is my sin, which locks thine ears,

  And binds thy hands,

  Out-crying my requests, drowning my tears;

  Or else the chillness of my faint demands.

  But as cold hands are angry with the fire, 5

  And mend it still;

  So I do lay the want of my desire,

  Not on my sins, or coldness, but thy will.

  Yet hear, O God, only for his blood’s sake

  Which pleads for me: 10

  For though sins plead too, yet like stones they make

  His blood’s sweet current much more loud to be.

  THE CHURCH-FLOOR.

  Mark you the floor? that square and speckled stone,

  Which looks so firm and strong,

  Is Patience:

  And th’ other black and grave, wherewith each one

  Is checkered all along, 5

  Humility:

  The gentle rising, which on either hand

  Leads to the Choir above,

  Is Confidence:

  But the sweet cement, which in one sure band 10

  Ties the whole frame, is Love

  And Charity.

  Hither sometimes Sin steals, and stains

  The marble’s neat and curious veins:

  But all is cleansed when the marble weeps. 15

  Sometimes Death, puffing at the door,

  Blows all the dust about the floor:

  But while he thinks to spoil the room, he sweeps.

  Blest be the Architect, whose art

  Could build so strong in a weak heart. 20

  THE WINDOWS.

  Lord, how can man preach thy eternal word?

  He is a brittle crazy glass:

  Yet in thy temple thou dost him afford

  This glorious and transcendent place,

  To be a window, through thy grace. 5

  But when thou dost anneal in glass thy story,

  Making thy life to shine within

  The holy Preacher’s; then the light and glory

  More rev’rend grows, and more doth win:

  Which else shows wat’rish, bleak, and thin. 10

  Doctrine and life, colours and light, in one

  When they combine and mingle, bring

  A strong regard and awe: but speech alone

  Doth vanish like a flaring thing,

  And in the ear, not conscience ring. 15

  TRINITY SUNDAY.

  Lord, who hast form’d me out of mud,

  And hast redeem’d me through thy blood,

  And sanctifi’d me to do good;

  Purge all my sins done heretofore:

  For I confess my heavy score, 5

  And I will strive to sin no more.

  Enrich my heart, mouth, hands in me,

  With faith, with hope, with charity;

  That I may run, rise, rest with thee.

  CONTENT.

  Peace mutt’ring thoughts, and do not grudge to keep

  Within the walls of you
r own breast:

  Who cannot on his own bed sweetly sleep,

  Can on another’s hardly rest.

  Gad not abroad at ev’ry quest and call 5

  Of an untrainèd hope or passion.

  To court each place or fortune that doth fall,

  Is wantonness in contemplation.

  Mark how the fire in flints doth quiet lie,

  Content and warm t’ itself alone: 10

  But when it would appear to other’s eye,

  Without a knock it never shone.

  Give me the pliant mind, whose gentle measure

  Complies and suits with all estates;

  Which can let loose to a crown, and yet with pleasure 15

  Take up within a cloister’s gates.

  This soul doth span the world, and hang content

  From either pole unto the centre:

  Where in each room of the well-furnish’d tent

  He lies warm, and without adventure. 20

  The brags of life are but a nine days’ wonder;

  And after death the fumes that spring

  From private bodies make as big a thunder,

  As those which rise from a huge King.

  Only thy Chronicle is lost; and yet 25

  Better by worms be all once spent,

  Than to have hellish moths still gnaw and fret

  Thy name in books, which may not rent:

  When all thy deeds, whose brunt thou feel’st alone,

  Are chaw’d by others’ pens and tongue; 30

  And as their wit is, their digestion,

  Thy nourisht fame is weak or strong.

  Then cease discoursing soul, till thine own ground,

  Do not thyself or friends importune.

  He that by seeking hath himself once found, 35

  Hath ever found a happy fortune.

  THE QUIDDITY.

  My God, a verse is not a crown,

  No point of honour, or gay suit,

  No hawk, or banquet, or renown,

  Nor a good sword, nor yet a lute:

  It cannot vault, or dance, or play; 5

  It never was in France or Spain;

  Nor can it entertain the day

  With a great stable or demesne:

  It is no office, art, or news,

  Nor the Exchange, or busy Hall; 10

  But it is that which while I use

  I am with thee, and most take all.

  HUMILITY.

  I saw the Virtues sitting hand in hand

  In sev’ral ranks upon an azure throne,

  Where all the beasts and fowls by their command