Other places I blog




web stats

Follow Me on Twitter

Entries in George Herbert (18)


Easter Wings

~ George Herbert (1593-1633)



Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
The bridal of the earth and sky,
The dew shall weep thy fall tonight;
For thou must die.

Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave
Bids the rash grazer wipe his eye,
Thy root is ever in its grave,
And thou must die.

Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses,
A box where sweets compacted lie,
My music shows ye have your closes,
And all must die.

Only a sweet and virtuous soul,
Like seasoned timber, never gives;
But wonder thou the whole world turn to coal,
Then chiefly lives.

George Herbert (1593-1633)



Prayer, the church's banquet, angel's age,
God's breath in man returning to his birth,
The soul in paraphrase, heart in pilgrimage,
The Christian plummet sounding heaven and earth;
Engine against the Almighty, sinner's tower,
Reversèd thunder, Christ-side-piercing spear,
The six days' world transposing in an hour,
A kind of tune, which all things hear and fear;
Softness, and peace, and joy, and love, and bliss,
Exalted manna, gladness of the best,
Heaven in ordinary, man well dressed,
The milky way, the bird of Paradise,
Church bells beyond the stars heard, the soul's blood,
The land of spices; something understood 

-- George Herbert (1593-1633)



Having been tenant long to a rich Lord,
Not thriving, I resolved to be bold
And make a suit unto him, to afford
A new small-rented lease, and cancel the old.
In heaven at his manor 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 returned, and knowing his great birth,
Sought him accordingly in great resorts,
In cities, theatres, gardens, parks, anad courts.
At length I heard a ragged noise and mirth
Of thieves and murderers; there I him espied,
Who straight, "Your suit is granted," said, and died.

-- George Herbert (1593-1633)


A little George Herbert

H. Scriptures I
OH Book !  infinite sweetness!  let my heart 
     Suck ev’ry letter, and a honey gain, 
     Precious for any grief in any part ; 
To clear the breast, to mollify all pain. 
Thou art all health, health thriving, till it make 
     A full eternity:  thou art a mass
     Of strange delights, where we may wish and take. 
Ladies, look here;  this is the thankfull glass, 
That mends the lookers eyes:  this is the well 
     That washes what it shows.  Who can indear 
     Thy praise too much?  thou art heav’ns Lidger here, 
Working against the states of death and hell. 
     Thou art joys handsell:  heav’n lies flat in thee, 
     Subject to ev’ry mounters bended knee.