Selected Works. George Herbert

smooth my’ rugged heart, and there

      Engrave thy rev’rend law and fear;

      Or make a new one, since the old

      Is saplesse grown,

      And a much fitter stone

      To hide my dust, then thee to hold.

      17. SINNE.

      LORD, with what care hast thou begirt us round!

      Parents first season us: then schoolmasters

      Deliver us to laws; they send us bound

      To rules of reason, holy messengers,

      Pulpits and sundayes, sorrow dogging sinne,

      Afflictions sorted, anguish of all sizes,

      Fine nets and stratagems to catch us in,

      Bibles laid open, millions of surprises,

      Blessings beforehand, tyes of gratefulnesse,

      The sound of glorie ringing in our eares;

      Without, our shame; within, our consciences;

      Angels and grace, eternall hopes and fears.

      Yet all these fences and their whole aray.

      One cunning bosome-sinne blows quite away.

      18. AFFLICTION.

      WHEN first thou didst entice to thee my heart,

      I thought the service brave:

      So many joyes I writ down for my part,

      Besides what I might have

      Out of my stock of naturall delights,

      Augmented with thy gracious benefits.

      I looked on thy furniture so fine,

      And made it fine to me;

      Thy glorious household-stuffe did me entwine,

      And ’tice me unto thee.

      Such starres I counted mine: both heav’n and earth

      Payd me my wages in a world of mirth.

      What pleasures could I want, whose King I served,

      Where joyes my fellows were?

      Thus argu’d into hopes, my thoughts reserved

      No place for grief or fear;

      Therefore my sudden soul caught at the place,

      And made her youth and fiercenesse seek thy face:

      At first thou gav’st me milk and sweetnesses;

      I had my wish and way:

      My dayes were straw’d with flow’rs and happinesse;

      There was no moneth but May.

      But with my yeares sorrow did twist and grow,

      And made a partie unawares for wo.

      My flesh began unto my soul in pain,

      Sicknesses cleave my bones,

      Consuming agues dwell in ev’ry vein,

      And tune my breath to grones:

      Sorrow was all my soul; I scarce beleeved,

      Till grief did tell me roundly, that I lived.

      When I got health, thou took’st away my life,

      And more; for my friends die:

      My mirth and edge was lost; a blunted knife

      Was of more use then I.

      Thus thinne and lean without a fence or friend,

      I was blown through with ev’ry storm and winde.

      Whereas my birth and spirit rather took

      The way that takes the town;

      Thou didst betray me to a lingring book,

      And wrap me in a gown.

      I was entangled in the world of strife,

      Before I had the power to change my life.

      Yet, for I threatened oft the siege to raise,

      Not simpring all mine age,

      Thou often didst with academick praise

      Melt and dissolve my rage.

      I took thy sweetened pill, till I came neare;

      I could not go away, nor persevere.

      Yet lest perchance I should too happie be

      In my unhappinesse

      Turning my purge to food, thou throwest me

      Into more sicknesses.

      Thus doth thy power cross-bias me, not making

      Thine own gift good, yet me from my ways taking.

      Now I am here, what thou wilt do with me

      None of my books will show:

      I reade, and sigh, and wish I were a tree;

      For sure then I should grow

      To fruit or shade: at least some bird would trust

      Her household to me, and I should be just.

      Yet, though thou troublest me, I must be meek;

      In weaknesse must be stout.

      Well, I will change the service, and go seek

      Some other master out.

      Ah my deare God! though I am clean forgot,

      Let me not love thee, if I love thee not.

      19. REPENTANCE.

      LORD, I confesse my sinne is great;

      Great is my sinne. Oh! gently treat

      With thy quick flow’r, thy momentarie bloom;

      Whose life still pressing

      Is one undressing,

      A steadie aiming at a tombe.

      Man’s age is two houres work, or three;

      Each day doth round about us see.

      Thus are we to delights: but we are all

      To sorrows old,

      If life be told

      From what life feeleth, Adam’s fall.

      Oh let thy height of mercie then

      Compassionate short-breathed men,

      Cut me not off for my most foul transgression:

      I do confesse

      My foolishnesse;

      My God, accept of my confession.

      Sweeten at length this bitter bowl,

      Which thou hast pour’d into my soul;

      Thy wormwood turn to health, windes to fair weather,

      For if thou stay,

      I and this day,

      As we did rise we die together.

      When thou for sinne rebukest man,

      Forthwith he waxeth wo and wan:

      Bitternesse