George Herbert- Collected Poetical Works Read online

  Presented tokens of submission.

  Humility, who sat the lowest there 5

  To execute their call,

  When by the beasts the presents tendred were,

  Gave them about to all.

  The angry Lion did present his paw,

  Which by consent was giv’n to Mansuetude. 10

  The fearful Hare her ears, which by their law

  Humility did reach to Fortitude.

  The jealous Turkey brought his coral-chain;

  That went to Temperance.

  On Justice was bestow’d the Fox’s brain, 15

  Kill’d in the way by chance.

  At length the Crow bringing the Peacock’s plume

  (For he would not), as they beheld the grace

  Of that brave gift, each one began to fume,

  And challenge it, as proper to his place, 20

  Till they fell out: which when the beasts espied,

  They leapt upon the throne;

  And if the Fox had lived to rule their side,

  They had depos’d each one.

  Humility, who held the plume, at this 25

  Did weep so fast, that the tears trickling down

  Spoil’d all the train: then saying Here it is

  For which ye wrangle, made them turn their frown

  Against the beasts: so jointly bandying,

  They drive them soon away; 30

  And then amerc’d them, double gifts to bring

  At the next Session-day.

  FRAILTY.

  Lord, in my silence how do I despise

  What upon trust

  Is stylèd honour, riches, or fair eyes;

  But is fair dust!

  I surname them gilded clay, 5

  Dear earth, fine grass, or hay;

  In all, I think my foot doth ever tread

  Upon their head.

  But when I view abroad both Regiments;

  The world’s and thine: 10

  Thine clad with simpleness, and sad events;

  The other fine,

  Full of glory and gay weeds,

  Brave language, braver deeds:

  That which was dust before, doth quickly rise, 15

  And prick mine eyes.

  O brook not this, lest if what even now

  My foot did tread,

  Affront those joys, wherewith thou didst endow,

  And long since wed 20

  My poor soul, ev’n sick of love:

  It may a Babel prove

  Commodious to conquer heav’n and thee

  Planted in me.

  CONSTANCY.

  Who is the honest man?

  He that doth still and strongly good pursue,

  To God, his neighbour, and himself most true:

  Whom neither force nor fawning can

  Unpin, or wrench from giving all their due. 5

  Whose honesty is not

  So loose or easy, that a ruffling wind

  Can blow away, or glittering look it blind:

  Who rides his sure and even trot,

  While the world now rides by, now lags behind. 10

  Who, when great trials come,

  Nor seeks, nor shuns them; but doth calmly stay,

  Till he the thing and the example weigh:

  All being brought into a sum,

  What place or person calls for, he doth pay. 15

  Whom none can work or woo

  To use in anything a trick or sleight;

  For above all things he abhors deceit:

  His words and works and fashion too

  All of a piece, and all are clear and straight. 20

  Who never melts or thaws

  At close tentations: when the day is done,

  His goodness sets not, but in dark can run:

  The sun to others writeth laws,

  And is their virtue; Virtue is his Sun. 25

  Who, when he is to treat

  With sick folks, women, those whom passions sway,

  Allows for that, and keeps his constant way:

  Whom others’ faults do not defeat;

  But though men fail him, yet his part doth play. 30

  Whom nothing can procure,

  When the wide world runs bias from his will,

  To writhe his limbs, and share, not mend the ill.

  This is the Mark-man, safe and sure,

  Who still is right, and prays to be so still. 35

  AFFLICTION III.

  My heart did heave, and there came forth, O God!

  By that I knew that thou wast in the grief,

  To guide and govern it to my relief,

  Making a sceptre of the rod:

  Hadst thou not had thy part, 5

  Sure the unruly sigh had broke my heart.

  But since thy breath gave me both life and shape,

  Thou know’st my tallies; and when there’s assigned

  So much breath to a sigh, what’s then behind?

  Or if some years with it escape, 10

  The sigh then only is

  A gale to bring me sooner to my bliss.

  Thy life on earth was grief, and thou art still

  Constant unto it, making it to be

  A point of honour, now to grieve in me, 15

  And in thy members suffer ill.

  They who lament one cross,

  Thou dying daily, praise thee to thy loss.

  THE STAR.

  Bright spark, shot from a brighter place,

  Where beams surround my Saviour’s face,

  Canst thou be any where

  So well as there?

  Yet, if thou wilt from thence depart, 5

  Take a bad lodging in my heart;

  For thou canst make a debtor,

  And make it better.

  First with thy fire-work burn to dust

  Folly, and worse than folly, lust: 10

  Then with thy light refine,

  And make it shine:

  So disengag’d from sin and sickness,

  Touch it with thy celestial quickness,

  That it may hang and move 15

  After thy love.

  Then with our trinity of light,

  Motion, and heat, let’s take our flight

  Unto the place where thou

  Before didst bow. 20

  Get me a standing there, and place

  Among the beams, which crown the face

  Of him, who died to part

  Sin and my heart:

  That so among the rest I may 25

  Glitter, and curl, and wind as they:

  That winding is their fashion

  Of adoration.

  Sure thou wilt joy, by gaining me

  To fly home like a laden bee 30

  Unto that hive of beams

  And garland-streams.

  SUNDAY.

  O day most calm, most bright,

  The fruit of this, the next world’s bud,

  Th’ endorsement of supreme delight,

  Writ by a friend, and with his blood;

  The couch of time; care’s balm and bay: 5

  The week were dark, but for thy light:

  Thy torch doth show the way.

  The other days and thou

  Make up one man; whose face thou art,

  Knocking at heaven with thy brow: 10

  The worky-days are the back-part;

  The burden of the week lies there,

  Making the whole to stoop and bow,

  Till thy release appear.

  Man had straight forward gone 15

  To endless death: but thou dost pull

  And turn us round to look on one,

  Whom, if we were not very dull,

  We could not choose but look on still;

  Since there is no place so alone, 20

  The which he doth not fill.

  Sundays the pillars are,

  On which heav’n’s palace archèd lies:

  The other days fill up the spare

  And hollow room with v
anities. 25

  They are the fruitful beds and borders

  In God’s rich garden: that is bare,

  Which parts their ranks and orders.

  The Sundays of man’s life,

  Threaded together on time’s string, 30

  Make bracelets to adorn the wife

  Of the eternal glorious King.

  On Sunday heaven’s gate stands ope;

  Blessings are plentiful and rife,

  More plentiful than hope. 35

  This day my Saviour rose,

  And did inclose this light for his:

  That, as each beast his manger knows,

  Man might not of his fodder miss.

  Christ hath took in this piece of ground, 40

  And made a garden there for those

  Who want herbs for their wound.

  The rest of our Creation

  Our great Redeemer did remove

  With the same shake, which at his passion 45

  Did th’ earth and all things with it move.

  As Samson bore the doors away,

  Christ’s hands, though nail’d, wrought our salvation,

  And did unhinge that day.

  The brightness of that day 50

  We sullied by our foul offence:

  Wherefore that robe we cast away,

  Having a new at his expense,

  Whose drops of blood paid the full price,

  That was required to make us gay, 55

  And fit for Paradise.

  Thou art a day of mirth:

  And where the week-days trail on ground,

  Thy flight is higher, as thy birth.

  O let me take thee at the bound, 60

  Leaping with thee from sev’n to sev’n,

  Till that we both, being toss’d from earth,

  Fly hand in hand to heav’n!

  AVARICE.

  Money, thou bane of bliss, and source of woe,

  Whence com’st thou, that thou art so fresh and fine?

  I know thy parentage is base and low:

  Man found thee poor and dirty in a mine.

  Surely thou didst so little contribute 5

  To this great kingdom, which thou now hast got,

  That he was fain, when thou wert destitute,

  To dig thee out of thy dark cave and grot:

  Then forcing thee, by fire he made thee bright:

  Nay, thou hast got the face of man; for we 10

  Have with our stamp and seal transferr’d our right:

  Thou art the man, and man but dross to thee.

  Man calleth thee his wealth, who made thee rich;

  And while he digs out thee, falls in the ditch.

  Ana(Mary/Army)gram. How well her name an Army doth present,

  In whom the Lord of Hosts did pitch his tent!

  TO ALL ANGELS AND SAINTS.

  O glorious spirits, who after all your bands

  See the smooth face of God, without a frown

  Or strict commands;

  Where ev’ry one is king, and hath his crown,

  If not upon his head, yet in his hands: 5

  Not out of envy or maliciousness

  Do I forbear to crave your special aid:

  I would address

  My vows to thee most gladly, blessèd Maid,

  And Mother of my God, in my distress. 10

  Thou art the holy mine, whence came the gold,

  The great restorative for all decay

  In young and old;

  Thou art the cabinet where the jewel lay:

  Chiefly to thee would I my soul unfold: 15

  But now (alas!) I dare not; for our King,

  Whom we do all jointly adore and praise,

  Bids no such thing:

  And where his pleasure no injunction lays,

  (’Tis your own case) ye never move a wing. 20

  All worship is prerogative, and a flower

  Of his rich crown, from whom lies no appeal

  At the last hour:

  Therefore we dare not from his garland steal,

  To make a posy for inferior power. 25

  Although then others court you, if ye know

  What’s done on earth, we shall not fare the worse,

  Who do not so;

  Since we are ever ready to disburse,

  If any one our Master’s hand can show. 30

  EMPLOYMENT II.

  He that is weary, let him sit.

  My soul would stir

  And trade in courtesies and wit,

  Quitting the fur

  To cold complexions needing it. 5

  Man is no star, but a quick coal

  Of mortal fire:

  Who blows it not, nor doth control

  A faint desire,

  Lets his own ashes choke his soul. 10

  When th’ elements did for place contest

  With him, whose will

  Ordain’d the highest to be best;

  The earth sat still,

  And by the others is opprest. 15

  Life is a business, not good cheer;

  Ever in wars.

  The sun still shineth there or here,

  Whereas the stars

  Watch an advantage to appear. 20

  O that I were an Orange-tree,

  That busy plant!

  Then should I ever laden be,

  And never want

  Some fruit for him that dressèd me. 25

  But we are still too young or old;

  The man is gone,

  Before we do our wares unfold:

  So we freeze on,

  Until the grave increase our cold. 30

  DENIAL.

  When my devotions could not pierce

  Thy silent ears;

  Then was my heart broken, as was my verse:

  My breast was full of fears

  And disorder: 5

  My bent thoughts, like a brittle bow,

  Did fly asunder:

  Each took his way; some would to pleasures go,

  Some to the wars and thunder

  Of alarms. 10

  As good go anywhere, they say,

  As to benumb

  Both knees and heart, in crying night and day,

  Come, come my God, O come,

  But no hearing. 15

  O that thou shouldst give dust a tongue

  To cry to thee,

  And then not hear it crying! all day long

  My heart was in my knee,

  But no hearing. 20

  Therefore my soul lay out of sight,

  Untuned, unstrung:

  My feeble spirit, unable to look right,

  Like a nipt blossom, hung

  Discontented. 25

  O cheer and tune my heartless breast,

  Defer no time;

  That so thy favours granting my request,

  They and my mind may chime,

  And mend my rhyme. 30

  CHRISTMAS.

  All after pleasures as I rid one day,

  My horse and I, both tir’d, body and mind,

  With full cry of affections, quite astray;

  I took up in the next inn I could find.

  There when I came, whom found I but my dear, 5

  My dearest Lord, expecting till the grief

  Of pleasures brought me to him, ready there

  To be all passengers’ most sweet relief?

  O Thou, whose glorious, yet contracted light,

  Wrapt in night’s mantle, stole into a manger; 10

  Since my dark soul and brutish is thy right,

  To Man of all beasts be not thou a stranger:

  Furnish and deck my soul, that thou mayst have

  A better lodging, than a rack, or grave.

  The shepherds sing; and shall I silent be? 15

  My God, no hymn for thee?

  My soul’s a shepherd too; a flock it feeds

  Of thoughts, and words, and deeds.

  The pasture is thy word: the streams, thy grace

 
; Enriching all the place. 20

  Shepherd and flock shall sing, and all my powers

  Out-sing the day-light hours.

  Then we will chide the sun for letting night

  Take up his place and right:

  We sing one common Lord; wherefore he should 25

  Himself the candle hold.

  I will go searching, till I find a sun

  Shall stay, till we have done;

  A willing shiner, that shall shine as gladly,

  As frost-nipt suns look sadly. 30

  Then we will sing, and shine all our own day,

  And one another pay:

  His beams shall cheer my breast, and both so twine,

  Till ev’n his beams sing, and my music shine.

  UNGRATEFULNESS.

  Lord, with what bounty and rare clemency

  Hast thou redeem’d us from the grave!

  If thou hadst let us run,

  Gladly had man adored the sun,

  And thought his god most brave; 5

  Where now we shall be better gods than he.

  Thou hast but two rare cabinets full of treasure,

  The Trinity, and Incarnation:

  Thou hast unlocked them both,

  And made them jewels to betroth 10

  The work of thy creation

  Unto thyself in everlasting pleasure.

  The statelier cabinet is the Trinity,

  Whose sparkling light access denies:

  Therefore thou dost not show 15

  This fully to us, till death blow

  The dust into our eyes:

  For by that powder thou wilt make us see.

  But all thy sweets are packt up in the other;

  Thy mercies thither flock and flow: 20

  That as the first affrights,

  This may allure us with delights;

  Because this box we know;

  For we have all of us just such another.

  But man is close, reserv’d, and dark to thee: 25

  When thou demandest but a heart,

  He cavils instantly.

  In his poor cabinet of bone

  Sins have their box apart,

  Defrauding thee, who gavest two for one. 30

  SIGHS AND GROANS.

  O do not use me

  After my sins! look not on my desert,

  But on thy glory! then thou wilt reform

  And not refuse me: for thou only art

  The mighty God, but I a silly worm; 5

  O do not bruise me!

  O do not urge me!

  For what account can thy ill steward make?

  I have abus’d thy stock, destroy’d thy woods,

  Suck’d all thy magazines: my head did ache, 10

  Till it found out how to consume thy goods: