The word is, Stay, says ever, Come.
O show thy, & c.
THE BRITISH CHURCH.
I joy, dear Mother, when I view
Thy perfect lineaments, and hue
Both sweet and bright.
Beauty in thee takes up her place,
And dates her letters from thy face, 5
When she doth write.
A fine aspect in fit array,
Neither too mean, nor yet too gay,
Shows who is best.
Outlandish looks may not compare: 10
For all they either painted are,
Or else undrest.
She on the hills, which wantonly
Allureth all in hope to be
By her preferr’d, 15
Hath kiss’d so long her painted shrines,
That ev’n her face by kissing shines,
For her reward.
She in the valley is so shy
Of dressing that her hair doth lie 20
About her ears:
While she avoids her neighbour’s pride,
She wholly goes on th’ other side,
And nothing wears.
But dearest Mother, what those miss, 25
The mean, thy praise and glory is,
And long may be.
Blessed be God, whose love it was
To double-moat thee with his grace,
And none but thee. 30
THE QUIP.
The merry world did on a day
With his train-bands and mates agree
To meet together, where I lay,
And all in sport to jeer at me.
First, Beauty crept into a rose, 5
Which when I pluckt not, Sir, said she,
Tell me, I pray, Whose hands are those?
But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me.
Then Money came, and chinking still,
What tune is this, poor man? said he: 10
I heard in Music you had skill.
But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me.
Then came brave Glory puffing by
In silks that whistled, who but he?
He scarce allow’d me half an eye. 15
But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me.
Then came quick Wit and Conversation,
And he would needs a comfort be,
And, to be short, make an oration.
But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me. 20
Yet when the hour of thy design
To answer these fine things shall come;
Speak not at large, say, I am thine:
And then they have their answer home.
VANITY II.
Poor silly soul, whose hope and head lies low;
Whose flat delights on earth do creep and grow:
To whom the stars shine not so fair, as eyes;
Nor solid work, as false embroideries;
Hark and beware, lest what you now do measure 5
And write for sweet, prove a most sour displeasure.
O hear betimes, lest thy relenting
May come too late!
To purchase heaven for repenting,
Is no hard rate. 10
If souls be made of earthly mould,
Let them love gold;
If born on high,
Let them unto their kindred fly:
For they can never be at rest, 15
Till they regain their ancient nest.
Then silly soul take heed; for earthly joy
Is but a bubble, and makes thee a boy.
THE DAWNING.
Awake sad heart, whom sorrow ever drowns;
Take up thine eyes, which feed on earth;
Unfold thy forehead gathered into frowns:
Thy Saviour comes, and with him mirth:
Awake, awake: 5
And with a thankful heart his comforts take.
But thou dost still lament, and pine, and cry;
And feel his death, but not his victory.
Arise sad heart; if thou dost not withstand,
Christ’s resurrection thine may be: 10
Do not by hanging down break from the hand,
Which as it riseth, raiseth thee:
Arise, arise;
And with his burial-linen dry thine eyes:
Christ left his grave-clothes, that we might, when grief 15
Draws tears, or blood, not want a handkerchief.
IESU.
IESU is in my heart, his sacred name
Is deeply carvèd there: but th’ other week
A great affliction broke the little frame,
Ev’n all to pieces: which I went to seek:
And first I found the corner, where was I, 5
After, where ES, and next where U was graved.
When I had got these parcels, instantly
I sat me down to spell them, and perceivèd
That to my broken heart he was I ease you,
And to my whole is IESU. 10
BUSINESS.
Canst be idle? canst thou play,
Foolish soul who sinn’d today?
Rivers run, and springs each one
Know their home, and get them gone:
Hast thou tears, or hast thou none? 5
If, poor soul, thou hast no tears;
Would thou hadst no faults or fears!
Who hath these, those ill forbears.
Winds still work: it is their plot,
Be the season cold, or hot: 10
Hast thou sighs, or hast thou not?
If thou hast no sighs or groans,
Would thou hadst no flesh and bones!
Lesser pains scape greater ones.
15 But if yet thou idle be,
Foolish soul, Who died for thee?
Who did leave his Father’s throne,
To assume thy flesh and bone;
Had he life, or had he none?
20 If he had not liv’d for thee,
Thou hadst died most wretchedly;
And two deaths had been thy fee.
He so far thy good did plot,
That his own self he forgot.
Did he die, or did he not? 25
If he had not died for thee,
Thou hadst lived in misery.
Two lives worse than ten deaths be.
And hath any space of breath
‘Twixt his sins and Saviour’s death? 30
He that loseth gold, though dross,
Tells to all he meets, his cross:
He that sins, hath he no loss?
He that finds a silver vein,
Thinks on it, and thinks again: 35
Brings thy Saviour’s death no gain?
Who in heart not ever kneels,
Neither sin nor Saviour feels.
DIALOGUE.
Sweetest Saviour, if my soul
Were but worth the having,
Quickly should I then control
Any thought of waiving.
But when all my care and pains 5
Cannot give the name of gains
To thy wretch so full of stains;
What delights or hope remains?
What, Child, is the balance thine,
Thine the poise and measure? 10
If I say, Thou shalt be mine;
Finger not my treasure.
What the gains in having thee
Do amount to, only he,
Who for man was sold, can see; 15
That transferr’d th’ accounts to me.
But as I can see no merit,
Leading to this favour:
So the way to fit me for it,
Is beyond my savour: 20
As the reason then is thine;
So the way is none of mine:
I disclaim the whole design:
Sin disclaims and I resign.
That is all, if that I could 25
Get without repining;
And my clay my creature would
Follow my resigning.
That as I did freely part
With my glory and desert, 30
Left all joys to feel all smart – –
Ah! no more: thou break’st my heart.
DULLNESS.
Why do I languish thus, drooping and dull,
As if I were all earth?
O give me quickness, that I may with mirth
Praise thee brimfull!
The wanton lover in a curious strain 5
Can praise his fairest fair;
And with quaint metaphors her curlèd hair
Curl o’er again.
Thou art my loveliness, my life, my light,
Beauty alone to me: 10
Thy bloody death and undeserv’d, makes thee
Pure red and white.
When all perfections as but one appear,
That those thy form doth show,
The very dust, where thou dost tread and go, 15
Makes beauties here;
Where are my lines then? my approaches? views?
Where are my window-songs?
Lovers are still pretending, and ev’n wrongs
Sharpen their Muse: 20
But I am lost in flesh, whose sug’red lies
Still mock me, and grow bold:
Sure thou didst put a mind there, if I could
Find where it lies.
Lord, clear thy gift, that with a constant wit 25
I may but look towards thee:
Look only; for to love thee, who can be,
What angel fit?
LOVE-JOY.
As on a window late I cast mine eye,
I saw a vine drop grapes with J and C
Anneal’d on every bunch. One standing by
Asked what it meant. I (who am never loath
To spend my judgement) said, It seem’d to me 5
To be the body and the letters both
Of Joy and Charity. Sir, you have not missed,
The man repli’d; It figures JESUS CHRIST.
PROVIDENCE.
O sacred Providence, who from end to end
Strongly and sweetly movest! shall I write,
And not of thee, through whom my fingers bend
To hold my quill? shall they not do thee right?
Of all the creatures both in sea and land 5
Only to Man thou hast made known thy ways,
And put the pen alone into his hand,
And made him Secretary of thy praise.
Beasts fain would sing; birds ditty to their notes;
Trees would be tuning on their native lute 10
To thy renown: but all their hands and throats
Are brought to Man, while they are lame and mute.
Man is the world’s high Priest: he doth present
The sacrifice for all; while they below
Unto the service mutter an assent, 15
Such as springs use that fall, and winds that blow.
He that to praise and laud thee doth refrain,
Doth not refrain unto himself alone,
But robs a thousand who would praise thee fain,
And doth commit a world of sin in one. 20
The beasts say, Eat me: but, if beasts must teach,
The tongue is yours to eat, but mine to praise.
The trees say, Pull me: but the hand you stretch,
Is mine to write, as it is yours to raise.
Wherefore, most sacred Spirit, I here present 25
For me and all my fellows praise to thee:
And just it is that I should pay the rent,
Because the benefit accrues to me.
We all acknowledge both thy power and love
To be exact, transcendent, and divine; 30
Who dost so strongly and so sweetly move,
While all things have their will, yet none but thine.
For either thy command, or thy permission
Lay hands on all: they are thy right and left.
The first puts on with speed and expedition; 35
The other curbs sin’s stealing pace and theft.
Nothing escapes them both; all must appear,
And be dispos’d, and dress’d, and tun’d by thee,
Who sweetly temper’st all. If we could hear
Thy skill and art, what music would it be! 40
Thou art in small things great, not small in any:
Thy even praise can neither rise, nor fall.
Thou art in all things one, in each thing many:
For thou art infinite in one and all.
Tempests are calm to thee; they know thy hand, 45
And hold it fast, as children do their father’s,
Which cry and follow. Thou hast made poor sand
Check the proud sea, ev’n when it swells and gathers.
Thy cupboard serves the world: the meat is set,
Where all may reach: no beast but knows his feed. 50
Birds teach us hawking; fishes have their net:
The great prey on the less, they on some weed.
Nothing engend’red doth prevent his meat:
Flies have their table spread, ere they appear.
Some creatures have in winter what to eat; 55
Others do sleep, and envy not their cheer.
How finely dost thou times and seasons spin,
And make a twist chequer’d with night and day!
Which as it lengthens winds, and winds us in,
As bowls go on, but turning all the way. 60
Each creature hath a wisdom for his good.
The pigeons feed their tender offspring, crying,
When they are callow; but withdraw their food
When they are fledge, that need may teach them flying.
Bees work for man; and yet they never bruise 65
Their master’s flower, but leave it, having done,
As fair as ever, and as fit to use;
So both the flower doth stay, and honey run.
Sheep eat the grass, and dung the ground for more:
Trees after bearing drop their leaves for soil: 70
Springs vent their streams, and by expense get store:
Clouds cool by heat, and baths by cooling boil.
Who hath the virtue to express the rare
And curious virtues both of herbs and stones?
Is there an herb for that? O that thy care 75
Would show a root, that gives expressions!
And if an herb hath power, what have the stars?
A rose, besides his beauty, is a cure.
Doubtless our plagues and plenty, peace and wars
Are there much surer than our art is sure. 80
Thou hast hid metals: man may take them thence;
But at his peril: when he digs the place,
He makes a grave; as if the thing had sense,
And threat’ned man, that he should fill the space.
Ev’n poisons praise thee. Should a thing be lost? 85
Should creatures want for want of heed their due?
Since where are poisons, antidotes are most:
The help stands close, and keeps the fear in view.
The sea, which seems to stop the traveller,
Is by a ship the speedier passage made. 90
The winds, who think they rule the mariner,
Are ruled by him, and taught to serve his trade.
And as thy house is full, so I adore
Thy curious art in marshalling thy goods.
The hills with health abound; the vales with store; 95
The South with marble; North with furs and woods.
Hard things are glorious; easy things good cheap.
The common all men have; that which is rare,
Men therefore seek to have, and care to keep.
The healthy frosts with summer-fruits compare. 100
Light without wind is glass: warm without weight
Is wool and furs: cool without closeness, shade:
Speed without pains, a horse: tall without height,
A servile hawk:
low without loss, a spade.
All countries have enough to serve their need: 105
If they seek fine things, thou dost make them run
For their offence; and then dost turn their speed
To be commerce and trade from sun to sun.
Nothing wears clothes, but Man; nothing doth need
But he to wear them. Nothing useth fire, 110
But Man alone, to show his heav’nly breed:
And only he hath fuel in desire.
When th’ earth was dry, thou mad’st a sea of wet:
When that lay gather’d, thou didst broach the mountains:
When yet some places could no moisture get, 115
The winds grew gard’ners, and the clouds good fountains.
Rain, do not hurt my flowers; but gently spend
Your honey drops: press not to smell them here:
When they are ripe, their odour will ascend,
And at your lodging with their thanks appear. 120
How harsh are thorns to pears! and yet they make
A better hedge, and need less reparation.
How smooth are silks comparèd with a stake,
Or with a stone! yet make no good foundation.
Sometimes thou dost divide thy gifts to man, 125
Sometimes unite. The Indian nut alone
Is clothing, meat and trencher, drink and can,
Boat, cable, sail and needle, all in one.
Most herbs that grow in brooks, are hot and dry.
Cold fruits warm kernels help against the wind. 130
The lemon’s juice and rind cure mutually.
The whey of milk doth loose, the milk doth bind.
Thy creatures leap not, but express a feast,
Where all the guests sit close, and nothing wants.
Frogs marry fish and flesh; bats, bird and beast; 135
Sponges, non-sense and sense; mines, th’ earth and plants.
To show thou art not bound, as if thy lot
Were worse than ours; sometimes thou shiftest hands.
Most things move th’ under-jaw; the Crocodile not.
Most things sleep lying; th’ Elephant leans or stands. 140
But who hath praise enough? nay who hath any?
None can express thy works, but he that knows them:
And none can know thy works, which are so many,
And so complete, but only he that owes them.
All things that are, though they have sev’ral ways, 145
Yet in their being join in one advice
To honour thee: and so I give thee praise
In all my other hymns, but in this twice.
Each thing that is, although in use and name
It go for one, hath many ways in store 150
To honour thee; and so each hymn thy fame
George Herbert- Collected Poetical Works Page 11
