Selected Works. George Herbert
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will do more.
Man is all weaknesse; there is no such thing
As Prince or King:
His arm is short; yet with a sling
He may do more.
A herb destill’d, and drunk, may dwell next doore,
On the same floore,
To a brave soul: Exalt the poore,
They can do more.
O raise me then! poore bees, that work all day,
Sting my delay,
Who have a work, as well as they,
And much, much more.
33. AFFLICTION.
KILL me not ev’ry day,
Thou Lord of life; since thy one death for me
Is more than all my deaths can be,
Though I in broken pay
Die over each hour of Methusalem’s stay.
If all men’s tear were let
Into one common sewer, sea, and brine;
What were they all, compar’d to thine?
Wherein if they were set,
They would discolour thy most bloudy sweat.
Thou art my grief alone,
Thou, Lord, conceal it not: and as thou art
All my delight, so all my smart:
Thy crosse took up in one,
By way of imprest, all my future mone.
34. MATTENS.
I CANNOT ope mine eyes,
But thou art ready there to catch
My morning-soul and sacrifice:
Then we must needs for that day make a match.
My God, what is a heart?
Silver, or gold, or precious stone,
Or starre, or rainbow, or a part
Of all these things, or all of them in one?
My God, what is a heart,
That thou shouldst it so eye, and wooe,
Powring upon it all thy art,
As if that thou hadst nothing els to do?
Indeed man’s whole estate
Amounts (and richly) to serve thee:
He did not heav’n and earth create,
Yet studies them, not him by whom they be.
Teach me thy love to know;
That this new light, which now I see,
May both the work and workman show:
Then by a sunne-beam I will climbe to thee.
35. SINNE.
O THAT I could a sinne once see!
We paint the devil foul, yet he
Hath some good in him, all agree.
Sinne is flat opposite to th’ Almighty, seeing
It wants the good of vertue, and of being.
But God more care of us hath had,
If apparitions make us sad,
By sight of sinne we should grow mad.
Yet as in sleep we see foul death, and live;
So devils are our sinnes in perspective.
36. EVEN-SONG.
BLEST be the God of love,
Who gave me eyes, and light, and power this day,
Both to be busie, and to play.
But much more blest be God above,
Who gave me sight alone,
Which to himself he did denie:
For when he sees my waies, I dy:
But I have got his Sonne, and he hath none.
What have I brought thee home
For this thy love? have I discharg’d the debt
Which this day’s favour did beget?
I ranne; but all I brought, was fome.
Thy diet, care, and cost
Do end in bubbles, balls of winde;
Of winde to thee whom I have crost,
But balls of wilde-fire to my troubled minde.
Yet still thou goest on,
And now with darknesse closest wearie eyes,
Saying to man, It doth suffice:
Henceforth repose: your work is done.
Thus in thy ebony box
Thou dost inclose us, till the day
Put our amendment in our way,
And give new wheels to our disorder’d clocks.
I muse, which shows more love,
The day or night; that is the gale, this th’ harbour;
That is the walk, and this the arbour;
Or that the garden, this the grove.
My God, thou art all love.
Not one poore minute ’scapes thy breast,
But brings a favour from above;
And in this love, more than in bed, I rest.
37. CHURCH-MONUMENTS.
WHILE that my soul repairs to her devotion,
Here I entombe my flesh, that it betimes
May take acquaintance of this heap of dust;
To which the blast of death’s incessant motion,
Fed with the exhalation of our crimes,
Drives all at last. Therefore I gladly trust
My bodie to this school, that it may learn
To spell his elements, and finde hb birth
Written in dustie heraldrie and lines;
Which dissolution sure doth best discern,
Comparing dust with dust, and earth with earth.
These laugh at Jeat, and Marble put for signes,
To sever the good fellowship of dust,
And spoil the meeting. What shall point out them,
When they shall bow, and kneel, and fall down flat
To kisse those heaps, which now they have in trust?
Deare flesh, while I do pray, learn here thy stemme
And true descent; that when thou shalt grow fat,
And