Selected Works. George Herbert

heaven at his manour I him sought:

      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;

      In cities, theatres, gardens, parks, and courts:

      At length I heard a ragged noise and mirth

      Of theeves and murderers: there I him espied,

      Who straight, Your suit is granted, said, and died.

      11. SEPULCHRE.

      O BLESSED bodie! 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;

      For they can lodge transgressions by the score:

      Thousand of toyes dwell there, yet out of doore

      They leave thee.

      But that which shews them large, shews them unfit.

      Whatever sinne did this pure rock commit,

      Which holds thee now? Who hath indited it

      Of murder?

      Where our hard hearts have took up stones to brain thee,

      And missing this, most falsely did arraigne thee;

      Onely these stones in quiet entertain thee,

      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.

      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.

      12. EASTER.

      RISE heart; thy Lord is risen. Sing his praise

      Without delayes,

      Who takes thee by the hand, that thou likewise

      With him mayst rise:

      That, as his death calcined thee to dust,

      His life may make thee gold, and much more just.

      Awake, my lute, and struggle for thy part

      With all thy art.

      The crosse taught all wood to resound his name

      Who bore the same

      His stretched 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 musick is but three parts vied,

      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:

      But thou wast up by break of day,

      And brought’st thy sweets along with thee.

      The Sunne arising in the East,

      Though he give light, and th’ East perfume;

      If they should offer to contest

      With thy arising, they presume.

      Can there be any day but this,

      Though many sunnes to shine endeavour?

      We count three hundred, but we misse:

      There is but one, and that one ever.

      13. EASTER-WINGS.

      14. HOLY BAPTISME.

      AS he that sees a dark and shadie grove,

      Stayes not, but looks beyond it on the skie;

      So when I view my sinnes, mine eyes remove

      More backward still, and to that water file,

      Which is above the heav’ns, whose spring and rent

      Is in my dear Redeemer’s pierced side.

      O blessed streams! either ye do prevent

      And stop our sinnes from growing thick and wide,

      Or else give tears to drown them, as they grow.

      In you Redemption measures all my time,

      And spreads the plaister equall to the crime:

      You taught the book of life my name, that so,

      Whatever future sinnes should me miscall,

      Your first acquaintance might discredit all.

      15. HOLY BAPTISME.

      SINCE, Lord, to thee

      A narrow way and little gate

      Is all the passage, on my infancie

      Thou didst lay hold, and antedate

      My faith in me.

      O let me still

      Write thee great God, and me a childe:

      Let me be soft and supple to thy will,

      Small to myself, to others milde,

      Behither ill.

      Although by stealth

      My flesh get on; yet let her sister

      My soul bid nothing, but preserve her wealth:

      The growth of flesh is but a blister;

      Childhood is health.

      16. NATURE.

      FULL of rebellion, I would die,

      Or fight, or travell, or denie

      That thou hast ought to do with me.

      O tame my heart;

      It is thy highest art

      To captivate strong holds to thee.

      If thou shalt let this venome lurk,

      And in suggestions fume and work,

      My soul will turn to bubbles straight,

      And thence by kinde

      Vanish into a winde,

      Making thy workmanship deceit.