I will praise thee.
In my heart, though not in heaven,
I can raise thee. 20
Thou grew’st soft and moist with tears,
Thou relentedst:
And when Justice called for fears,
Thou dissentedst.
Small it is, in this poor sort 25
To enrol thee:
Ev’n eternity is too short
To extol thee.
AN OFFERING.
Come, bring thy gift. If blessings were as slow
As men’s returns, what would become of fools?
What hast thou there? a heart? but is it pure?
Search well and see; for hearts have many holes.
Yet one pure heart is nothing to bestow: 5
In Christ two natures met to be thy cure.
O that within us hearts had propagation,
Since many gifts do challenge many hearts!
Yet one, if good, may title to a number;
And single things grow fruitful by deserts. 10
In public judgements one may be a nation,
And fence a plague, while others sleep and slumber.
But all I fear is lest thy heart displease,
As neither good, nor one: so oft divisions
Thy lusts have made, and not thy lusts alone; 15
Thy passions also have their set partitions.
These parcel out thy heart: recover these,
And thou mayst offer many gifts in one.
There is a balsam, or indeed a blood,
Dropping from heav’n, which doth both cleanse and close 20
All sorts of wounds; of such strange force it is.
Seek out this All-heal, and seek no repose,
Until thou find and use it to thy good:
Then bring thy gift, and let thy hymn be this;
Since my sadness 25
Into gladness
Lord thou dost convert,
O accept
What thou hast kept,
As thy due desert. 30
Had I many,
Had I any,
(For this heart is none)
All were thine
And none of mine: 35
Surely thine alone.
Yet thy favour
May give savour
To this poor oblation;
And it raise 40
To be thy praise,
And be my salvation.
LONGING.
With sick and famisht eyes,
With doubling knees and weary bones,
To thee my cries,
To thee my groans,
To thee my sighs, my tears ascend: 5
No end?
My throat, my soul is hoarse;
My heart is wither’d like a ground
Which thou dost curse.
My thoughts turn round, 10
And make me giddy; Lord, I fall,
Yet call.
From thee all pity flows.
Mothers are kind, because thou art,
And dost dispose 15
To them a part:
Their infants, them; and they suck thee
More free.
Bowels of pity, hear!
Lord of my soul, love of my mind, 20
Bow down thine ear!
Let not the wind
Scatter my words, and in the same
Thy name!
Look on my sorrows round! 25
Mark well my furnace! O what flames,
What heats abound!
What griefs, what shames!
Consider, Lord; Lord, bow thine ear,
And hear! 30
Lord Jesu, thou didst bow
Thy dying head upon the tree:
O be not now
More dead to me!
Lord hear, Shall he that made the ear 35
Not hear?
Behold, thy dust doth stir,
It moves, it creeps, it aims at thee:
Wilt thou defer
To succour me, 40
Thy pile of dust, wherein each crumb
Says, Come?
To thee help appertains.
Hast thou left all things to their course,
And laid the reins 45
Upon the horse?
Is all lockt? hath a sinner’s plea
No key?
Indeed the world’s thy book,
Where all things have their leaf assign’d: 50
Yet a meek look
Hath interlin’d.
Thy board is full, yet humble guests
Find nests.
Thou tarriest, while I die, 55
And fall to nothing: thou dost reign,
And rule on high,
While I remain
In bitter grief: yet am I styl’d
Thy child. 60
Lord, didst thou leave thy throne,
Not to relieve? how can it be,
That thou art grown
Thus hard to me?
Were sin alive, good cause there were 65
To bear.
But now both sin is dead,
And all thy promises live and bide.
That wants his head;
These speak and chide, 70
And in thy bosom pour my tears,
As theirs.
Lord JESU, hear my heart,
Which hath been broken now so long,
That ev’ry part 75
Hath got a tongue!
Thy beggars grow; rid them away
To day.
My love, my sweetness, hear!
By these thy feet, at which my heart 80
Lies all the year,
Pluck out thy dart,
And heal my troubled breast which cries,
Which dies.
THE BAG.
Away despair! my gracious Lord doth hear.
Though winds and waves assault my keel,
He doth preserve it: he doth steer,
Ev’n when the boat seems most to reel.
Storms are the triumph of his art: 5
Well may he close his eyes, but not his heart.
Hast thou not heard, that my Lord JESUS di’d?
Then let me tell thee a strange story.
The God of power, as he did ride
In his majestic robes of glory, 10
Resolv’d to light; and so one day
He did descend, undressing all the way.
The stars his tire of light and rings obtain’d,
The cloud his bow, the fire his spear,
The sky his azure mantle gain’d. 15
And when they ask’d, what he would wear;
He smil’d and said as he did go,
He had new clothes a-making here below.
When he was come, as travellers are wont,
He did repair unto an inn. 20
Both then, and after, many a brunt
He did endure to cancel sin:
And having given the rest before,
Here he gave up his life to pay our score.
But as he was returning, there came one 25
That ran upon him with a spear.
He, who came hither all alone,
Bringing nor man, nor arms, nor fear,
Receiv’d the blow upon his side,
And straight he turned, and to his brethren cri’d, 30
If ye have any thing to send or write,
I have no bag, but here is room
Unto my father’s hands and sight
Believe me it shall safely come.
That I shall mind, what you impart; 35
Look, you may put it very near my heart.
Or if hereafter any of my friends
Will use me in this kind, the door
Shall still be open; what he sends
I will present, and somewhat more, 40
Not to his hurt. Sighs will convey
Any thing to me. Hark, Despair, away.
THE JEWS.
Poor nation, whose sweet sap, and juice
&n
bsp; Our scions have purloin’d, and left you dry:
Whose streams we got by the Apostles’ sluice,
And use in baptism, while ye pine and die:
Who by not keeping once, became a debtor; 5
And now by keeping lose the letter:
O that my prayers! mine, alas!
O that some Angel might a trumpet sound;
At which the Church falling upon her face
Should cry so loud, until the trump were drown’d, 10
And by that cry of her dear Lord obtain,
That your sweet sap might come again!
THE COLLAR.
I struck the board, and cri’d, No more.
I will abroad.
What? shall I ever sigh and pine?
My lines and life are free; free as the road,
Loose as the wind, as large as store. 5
Shall I be still in suit?
Have I no harvest but a thorn
To let me blood, and not restore
What I have lost with cordial fruit?
Sure there was wine 10
Before my sighs did dry it: there was corn
Before my tears did drown it.
Is the year only lost to me?
Have I no bays to crown it?
No flowers, no garlands gay? All blasted? 15
All wasted?
Not so, my heart: but there is fruit,
And thou hast hands.
Recover all thy sigh-blown age
On double pleasures: leave thy cold dispute 20
Of what is fit, and not. Forsake thy cage,
Thy rope of sands,
Which petty thoughts have made, and made to thee
Good cable, to enforce and draw,
And be thy law, 25
While thou didst wink and wouldst not see.
Away; take heed:
I will abroad.
Call in thy death’s head there: tie up thy fears.
He that forbears 30
To suit and serve his need,
Deserves his load.
But as I raved and grew more fierce and wild
At every word,
Me thoughts I heard one calling, Child 35
And I repli’d, My Lord.
THE GLIMPSE.
Whither away delight?
Thou cam’st but now; wilt thou so soon depart,
And give me up to night?
For many weeks of ling’ring pain and smart
But one half hour of comfort for my heart? 5
Methinks delight should have
More skill in music, and keep better time.
Wert thou a wind or wave,
They quickly go and come with lesser crime:
Flowers look about, and die not in their prime. 10
Thy short abode and stay
Feeds not, but adds to the desire of meat.
Lime begg’d of old (they say)
A neighbour spring to cool his inward heat;
Which by the spring’s access grew much more great. 15
In hope of thee my heart
Pickt here and there a crumb, and would not die;
But constant to his part
Whenas my fears foretold this, did reply,
A slender thread a gentle guest will tie. 20
Yet if the heart that wept
Must let thee go, return when it doth knock.
Although thy heap be kept
For future times, the droppings of the stock
May oft break forth, and never break the lock. 25
If I have more to spin,
The wheel shall go, so that thy stay be short.
Thou knowst how grief and sin
Disturb the work. O make me not their sport,
Who by thy coming may be made a court! 30
ASSURANCE.
O spiteful bitter thought!
Bitterly spiteful thought! Couldst thou invent
So high a torture? Is such poison bought?
Doubtless, but in the way of punishment.
When wit contrives to meet with thee, 5
No such rank poison can there be.
Thou said’st but even now,
That all was not so fair, as I conceiv’d,
Betwixt my God and me; that I allow
And coin large hopes; but, that I was deceiv’d: 10
Either the league was broke, or near it;
And, that I had great cause to fear it.
And what to this? what more
Could poison, if it had a tongue, express?
What is thy aim? wouldst thou unlock the door 15
To cold despairs, and gnawing pensiveness?
Wouldst thou raise devils? I see, I know,
I writ thy purpose long ago.
But I will to my Father,
Who heard thee say it. O most gracious Lord, 20
If all the hope and comfort that I gather,
Were from myself, I had not half a word,
Not half a letter to oppose
What is objected by my foes.
But thou art my desert: 25
And in this league, which now my foes invade,
Thou art not only to perform thy part,
But also mine; as when the league was made
Thou didst at once thyself indite,
And hold my hand, while I did write. 30
Wherefore if thou canst fail,
Then can thy truth and I: but while rocks stand,
And rivers stir, thou canst not shrink or quail:
Yea, when both rocks and all things shall disband,
Then shalt thou be my rock and tower, 35
And make their ruin praise thy power.
Now foolish thought go on,
Spin out thy thread, and make thereof a coat
To hide thy shame: for thou hast cast a bone
Which bounds on thee, and will not down thy throat: 40
What for itself love once began,
Now love and truth will end in man.
THE CALL.
Come, my Way, my Truth, my Life:
Such a Way, as gives us breath:
Such a Truth, as ends all strife:
Such a Life, as killeth death.
Come, my Light, my Feast, my Strength: 5
Such a Light, as shows a feast:
Such a Feast, as mends in length:
Such a Strength, as makes his guest.
Come, my Joy, my Love, my Heart:
Such a Joy, as none can move: 10
Such a Love, as none can part:
Such a Heart, as joys in love.
CLASPING OF HANDS.
Lord, thou art mine, and I am thine,
If mine I am: and thine much more,
Than I or ought, or can be mine.
Yet to be thine, doth me restore;
So that again I now am mine, 5
And with advantage mine the more,
Since this being mine, brings with it thine,
And thou with me dost thee restore.
If I without thee would be mine,
I neither should be mine nor thine. 10
Lord, I am thine, and thou art mine:
So mine thou art, that something more
I may presume thee mine, than thine.
For thou didst suffer to restore
Not thee, but me, and to be mine: 15
And with advantage mine the more,
Since thou in death wast none of thine,
Yet then as mine didst me restore.
O be mine still! still make me thine!
Or rather make no Thine and Mine! 20
PRAISE III.
Lord, I will mean and speak thy praise,
Thy praise alone.
My busy heart shall spin it all my days:
And when it stops for want of store,
Then will I wring it with a sigh or groan, 5
That thou mayst yet have more.
When thou dost favour any action,
It runs, it flies:
&n
bsp; All things concur to give it a perfection.
That which had but two legs before, 10
When thou dost bless, hath twelve: one wheel doth rise
To twenty then, or more.
But when thou dost on business blow,
It hangs, it clogs:
Not all the teams of Albion in a row 15
Can hail or draw it out of door.
Legs are but stumps, and Pharaoh’s wheels but logs,
And struggling hinders more.
Thousands of things do thee employ
In ruling all 20
This spacious globe: Angels must have their joy,
Devils their rod, the sea his shore,
The winds their stint: and yet when I did call,
Thou heardst my call, and more.
I have not lost one single tear: 25
But when mine eyes
Did weep to heav’n, they found a bottle there
(As we have boxes for the poor)
Ready to take them in; yet of a size
That would contain much more. 30
But after thou hadst slipt a drop
From thy right eye,
(Which there did hang like streamers near the top
Of some fair church, to show the sore
And bloody battle which thou once didst try) 35
The glass was full and more.
Wherefore I sing. Yet since my heart,
Though press’d, runs thin;
O that I might some other hearts convert,
And so take up at use good store: 40
That to thy chests there might be coming in
Both all my praise, and more!
JOSEPH’S COAT.
Wounded I sing, tormented I indite,
Thrown down I fall into a bed, and rest:
Sorrow hath chang’d its note: such is his will,
Who changeth all things, as him pleaseth best.
For well he knows, if but one grief and smart 5
Among my many had his full career,
Sure it would carry with it ev’n my heart,
And both would run until they found a bier
To fetch the body; both being due to grief.
But he hath spoil’d the race; and giv’n to anguish 10
One of Joy’s coats, ‘ticing it with relief
To linger in me, and together languish.
I live to show his power, who once did bring
My joys to weep, and now my griefs to sing.
THE PULLEY.
When God at first made man,
Having a glass of blessings standing by,
Let us (said he) pour on him all we can:
Let the world’s riches, which dispersèd lie,
Contract into a span. 5
So strength first made a way;
Then beauty flow’d, then wisdom, honour, pleasure:
George Herbert- Collected Poetical Works Page 14
