Extolleth many ways, yet this one more.
HOPE.
I gave to Hope a watch of mine: but he
An anchor gave to me.
Then an old prayer-book I did present:
And he an optic sent.
With that I gave a vial full of tears: 5
But he a few green ears:
Ah Loiterer! I’ll no more, no more I’ll bring:
I did expect a ring.
SIN’S ROUND.
Sorry I am, my God, sorry I am,
That my offences course it in a ring.
My thoughts are working like a busy flame,
Until their cockatrice they hatch and bring:
And when they once have perfected their draughts, 5
My words take fire from my inflamèd thoughts.
My words take fire from my inflamèd thoughts,
Which spit it forth like the Sicilian hill.
They vent the wares, and pass them with their faults,
And by their breathing ventilate the ill. 10
But words suffice not, where are lewd intentions:
My hands do join to finish the inventions.
My hands do join to finish the inventions:
And so my sins ascend three stories high,
As Babel grew, before there were dissensions. 15
Yet ill deeds loiter not: for they supply
New thoughts of sinning: wherefore, to my shame,
Sorry I am, my God, sorry I am.
TIME.
Meeting with Time, Slack thing, said I,
Thy scythe is dull; whet it for shame.
No marvel Sir, he did reply,
If it at length deserve some blame:
But where one man would have me grind it, 5
Twenty for one too sharp do find it.
Perhaps some such of old did pass,
Who above all things loved this life;
To whom thy scythe a hatchet was,
Which now is but a pruning-knife. 10
Christ’s coming hath made man thy debtor,
Since by thy cutting he grows better.
And in his blessing thou art blessed;
For where thou only wert before
An executioner at best; 15
Thou art a gard’ner now, and more,
An usher to convey our souls
Beyond the utmost stars and poles.
And this is that makes life so long,
While it detains us from our God. 20
Ev’n pleasures here increase the wrong,
And length of days lengthen the rod.
Who wants the place, where God doth dwell,
Partakes already half of hell.
Of what strange length must that needs be, 25
Which ev’n eternity excludes!
Thus far Time heard me patiently:
Then chafing said, This man deludes:
What do I here before his door?
He doth not crave less time, but more. 30
GRATEFULNESS.
Thou that hast giv’n so much to me,
Give one thing more, a grateful heart.
See how thy beggar works on thee
By art.
He makes thy gifts occasion more, 5
And says, If he in this be crosst
All thou hast giv’n him heretofore
Is lost.
But thou didst reckon, when at first
Thy word our hearts and hands did crave, 10
What it would come to at the worst
To save.
Perpetual knockings at thy door,
Tears sullying thy transparent rooms,
Gift upon gift, much would have more, 15
And comes.
This not withstanding, thou wentst on,
And didst allow us all our noise:
Nay thou hast made a sigh and groan
Thy joys. 20
Not that thou hast not still above
Much better tunes, than groans can make;
But that these country-airs thy love
Did take.
Wherefore I cry, and cry again; 25
And in no quiet canst thou be,
Till I a thankful heart obtain
Of thee:
Not thankful, when it pleaseth me;
As if thy blessings had spare days: 30
But such a heart, whose pulse may be
Thy praise.
PEACE.
Sweet Peace, where dost thou dwell? I humbly crave,
Let me once know.
I sought thee in a secret cave,
And ask’d, if Peace were there.
A hollow wind did seem to answer, No: 5
Go seek elsewhere.
I did; and going did a rainbow note:
Surely, thought I,
This is the lace of Peace’s coat:
I will search out the matter. 10
But while I look’d, the clouds immediately
Did break and scatter.
Then went I to a garden, and did spy
A gallant flower,
The Crown Imperial: Sure, said I, 15
Peace at the root must dwell.
But when I digg’d, I saw a worm devour
What show’d so well.
At length I met a rev’rend good old man,
Whom when for Peace 20
I did demand, he thus began:
There was a Prince of old
At Salem dwelt, who liv’d with good increase
Of flock and fold.
He sweetly liv’d; yet sweetness did not save 25
His life from foes.
But after death out of his grave
There sprang twelve stalks of wheat:
Which many wond’ring at, got some of those
To plant and set. 30
It prosper’d strangely, and did soon disperse
Through all the earth:
For they that taste it do rehearse,
That virtue lies therein,
A secret virtue bringing peace and mirth 35
By flight of sin.
Take of this grain, which in my garden grows,
And grows for you;
Make bread of it: and that repose
And peace which ev’rywhere 40
With so much earnestness you do pursue,
Is only there.
CONFESSION.
O what a cunning guest
Is this same grief! within my heart I made
Closets; and in them many a chest;
And like a master in my trade,
In those chests, boxes; in each box, a till: 5
Yet grief knows all, and enters when he will.
No screw, no piercer can
Into a piece of timber work and wind,
As God’s afflictions into man
When he a torture hath design’d. 10
They are too subtle for the subtlest hearts;
And fall, like rheums, upon the tend’rest parts.
We are the earth; and they,
Like moles within us, heave, and cast about:
And till they foot and clutch their prey, 15
They never cool, much less give out.
No smith can make such locks, but they have keys:
Closets are halls to them; and hearts, high-ways.
Only an open breast
Doth shut them out, so that they cannot enter; 20
Or, if they enter, cannot rest,
But quickly seek some new adventure.
Smooth open hearts no fast’ning have; but fiction
Doth give a hold and handle to affliction.
Wherefore my faults and sins, 25
Lord, I acknowledge; take thy plagues away:
For since confession pardon wins,
I challenge here the brightest day,
The clearest diamond: let them do their best,
They shall be thick and cloudy to my breast. 30
GIDDINESS.
O, what a thing is man! how far f
rom power,
From settled peace and rest!
He is some twenty sev’ral men at least
Each sev’ral hour.
One while he counts of heav’n, as of his treasure: 5
But then a thought creeps in,
And calls him coward, who for fear of sin
Will lose a pleasure.
Now he will fight it out, and to the wars;
Now eat his bread in peace, 10
And snudge in quiet: now he scorns increase;
Now all day spares.
He builds a house, which quickly down must go,
As if a whirlwind blew
And crusht the building: and it’s partly true, 15
His mind is so.
O what a sight were Man, if his attires
Did alter with his mind;
And like a Dolphin’s skin, his clothes combin’d
With his desires! 20
Surely if each one saw another’s heart,
There would be no commerce,
No sale or bargain pass: all would disperse,
And live apart.
Lord, mend or rather make us: one creation 25
Will not suffice our turn:
Except thou make us daily, we shall spurn
Our own salvation.
THE BUNCH OF GRAPES.
Joy, I did lock thee up: but some bad man
Hath let thee out again:
And now, methinks, I am where I began
Sev’n years ago: one vogue and vein,
One air of thoughts usurps my brain. 5
I did toward Canaan draw; but now I am
Brought back to the Red Sea, the sea of shame.
For as the Jews of old by God’s command
Travell’d, and saw no town:
So now each Christian hath his journeys spann’d: 10
Their story pens and sets us down.
A single deed is small renown.
God’s works are wide, and let in future times;
His ancient justice overflows our crimes.
Then have we too our guardian fires and clouds; 15
Our Scripture-dew drops fast:
We have our sands and serpents, tents and shrouds;
Alas! our murmurings come not last.
But where’s the cluster? where’s the taste
Of mine inheritance? Lord, if I must borrow, 20
Let me as well take up their joy, as sorrow.
But can he want the grape, who hath the wine?
I have their fruit and more.
Blessèd be God, who prosper’d Noah’s vine,
And made it bring forth grapes good store. 25
But much more him I must adore,
Who of the law’s sour juice sweet wine did make,
Ev’n God himself, being pressèd for my sake.
LOVE UNKNOWN.
Dear Friend, sit down, the tale is long and sad:
And in my faintings I presume your love
Will more comply, than help. A Lord I had,
And have, of whom some grounds which may improve,
I hold for two lives, and both lives in me. 5
To him I brought a dish of fruit one day,
And in the middle placed my heart. But he
(I sigh to say)
Look’d on a servant, who did know his eye
Better than you know me, or (which is one) 10
Than I myself. The servant instantly
Quitting the fruit, seized on my heart alone,
And threw it in a font, wherein did fall
A stream of blood, which issu’d from the side
Of a great rock: I well remember all, 15
And have good cause: there it was dipt and dy’d,
And washt, and wrung: the very wringing yet
Enforceth tears. Your heart was foul, I fear.
Indeed ’tis true. I did and do commit
Many a fault more than my lease will bear; 20
Yet still asked pardon, and was not deni’d.
But you shall hear. After my heart was well,
And clean and fair, as I one even-tide
(I sigh to tell)
Walkt by myself abroad, I saw a large 25
And spacious furnace flaming, and thereon
A boiling cauldron, round about whose verge
Was in great letters set AFFLICTION.
The greatness showed the owner. So I went
To fetch a sacrifice out of my fold, 30
Thinking with that, which I did thus present,
To warm his love, which I did fear grew cold.
But as my heart did tender it, the man
Who was to take it from me, slipt his hand,
And threw my heart into the scalding pan; 35
My heart, that brought it (do you understand?)
The offerer’s heart. Your heart was hard, I fear.
Indeed ’tis true. I found a callous matter
Began to spread and to expatiate there:
But with a richer drug than scalding water, 40
I bath’d it often, ev’n with holy blood,
Which at a board, while many drunk bare wine,
A friend did steal into my cup for good,
Ev’n taken inwardly, and most divine
To supple hardnesses. But at the length 45
Out of the cauldron getting, soon I fled
Unto my house, where to repair the strength
Which I had lost, I hasted to my bed.
But when I thought to sleep out all these faults
(I sigh to speak) 50
I found that some had stuff’d the bed with thoughts,
I would say thorns. Dear, could my heart not break,
When with my pleasures ev’n my rest was gone?
Full well I understood, who had been there:
For I had giv’n the key to none, but one: 55
It must be he. Your heart was dull, I fear.
Indeed a slack and sleepy state of mind
Did oft possess me, so that when I pray’d,
Though my lips went, my heart did stay behind.
But all my scores were by another paid, 60
Who took the debt upon him. Truly, Friend,
For ought I hear, your Master shows to you
More favour than you wot of. Mark the end.
The Font did only, what was old, renew:
The Cauldron suppled, what was grown too hard: 65
The Thorns did quicken, what was grown too dull:
All did but strive to mend, what you had marr’d.
Wherefore be cheer’d, and praise him to the full
Each day, each hour, each moment of the week,
Who fain would have you be, new, tender, quick. 70
MAN’S MEDLEY.
Hark, how the birds do sing,
And woods do ring.
All creatures have their joy: and man hath his.
Yet if we rightly measure,
Man’s joy and pleasure 5
Rather hereafter, than in present, is.
To this life things of sense
Make their pretence:
In th’ other Angels have a right by birth:
Man ties them both alone, 10
And makes them one,
With th’ one hand touching heav’n, with th’ other earth.
In soul he mounts and flies,
In flesh he dies.
He wears a stuff whose thread is coarse and round, 15
But trimm’d with curious lace,
And should take place
After the trimming, not the stuff and ground.
Not that he may not here
Taste of the cheer, 20
But as birds drink, and straight lift up their head,
So must he sip and think
Of better drink
He may attain to, after he is dead.
But as his joys are double; 25
So is his trouble.
He hath two winters, other things but one:
/>
Both frosts and thoughts do nip,
And bite his lip;
And he of all things fears two deaths alone. 30
Yet ev’n the greatest griefs
May be reliefs,
Could he but take them right, and in their ways.
Happy is he, whose heart
Hath found the art 35
To turn his double pains to double praise.
THE STORM.
If as the winds and waters here below
Do fly and flow,
My sighs and tears as busy were above;
Sure they would move
And much affect thee, as tempestuous times 5
Amaze poor mortals, and object their crimes.
Stars have their storms, ev’n in a high degree,
As well as we.
A throbbing conscience spurrèd by remorse
Hath a strange force: 10
It quits the earth, and mounting more and more,
Dares to assault thee, and besiege thy door.
There it stands knocking, to thy music’s wrong,
And drowns the song.
Glory and honour are set by till it 15
An answer get.
Poets have wrong’d poor storms: such days are best;
They purge the air without, within the breast.
PARADISE.
I bless thee, Lord, because I GROW
Among thy trees, which in a ROW
To thee both fruit and order OW.
What open force, or hidden CHARM
Can blast my fruit, or bring me HARM, 5
While the inclosure is thine ARM?
Inclose me still for fear I START.
Be to me rather sharp and TART,
Than let me want thy hand and ART.
When thou dost greater judgements SPARE, 10
And with thy knife but prune and PARE,
Ev’n fruitful trees more fruitful ARE.
Such sharpness shows the sweetest FREND:
Such cuttings rather heal than REND:
And such beginnings touch their END. 15
THE METHOD.
Poor heart, lament.
For since thy God refuseth still,
There is some rub, some discontent,
Which cools his will.
Thy Father could 5
Quickly effect, what thou dost move;
For he is Power: and sure he would;
For he is Love.
Go search this thing,
Tumble thy breast, and turn thy book. 10
If thou hadst lost a glove or ring,
Wouldst thou not look?
What do I see
Written above there? Yesterday
I did behave me carelessly, 15
George Herbert- Collected Poetical Works Page 12
