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^p (3ttiv%t |). JJalmer 
 
 THE ENGLISH POEMS OF GEORGE HERBERT. 
 With frontispiece. Edited by George H. Palmer. 
 
 INTlMATfONS OF IMMORTALITY IN THE SON- 
 NETS OF SHAKSPERE. Ingersoll Lecture. 
 
 THE PROBLEI\A OF FREEDOM. 
 
 THE TEACHER AND OTHER ESSAYS AND AD- 
 DRESSES ON EDUCATION. By George H. Palmer 
 and Alice Freeman Palmer. 
 
 THE LIFE OF ALICE FREEMAN PALMER. With 
 Portraits and Views. New Edition. 
 
 THE ENGLISH WORKS OF GEORGE HERBERT. 
 Newly arranged and annotated, and considered in rela- 
 tion to his life, by G. H. Padmer. Secofid Edition. In 
 3 volumes. Illustrated. 
 
 THE NATURE OF GOODNESS. 
 
 THE FIELD OF ETHICS. 
 
 THE ODYSSEY OF HOMER. Books I-XII. The 
 Text and an English Prose Version. 
 
 THE ODYSSEY. Complete. An English Translation 
 
 in Prose. 
 THE ANTIGONE OF SOPHOCLES. Translated into 
 
 English. With an Introduction. 
 
 A SERVICE IN MEMORY OF ALJCE FREEMAN 
 PALMER. Edited by George H. Palmer. With Ad- 
 dresses by James B. Angell, Caroline Hazard, W. J. 
 Tucker, and Charles W. Eliot. With Portraits. 
 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 Boston and New York 
 
THE ENGL "1 POEMS OF 
 GEORGE HERBERT 
 
THE ENGLISH POEMS OF 
 
 GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 NEWLY ARRANGED IN RELATION TO 
 
 HIS LIFE BY 
 
 GEORGE HERBERT PALMER 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 
 (^he m\Mx0iiit pxt0? €ambnD0C 
 1916 
 
^BOl 
 
 
 COPYRIGHT 1905 AND I916, BY GEORGE HERBERT PALMER 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 JAN 24 I9IB 
 
 ©CU4204S1 
 
GENERAL PREFACE 
 
 FOR poems so few as those of George Herbert, 
 and of so intimate a nature, a small book is 
 ^^ fitting. I once gave them enormous bulk. Bear- 
 ing Herbert's name and studying him for half a 
 lifetime, in 1905 I devoted thirteen hundred pages 
 to telling the world what I thought of him.^ A first 
 volume contained all his English prose together 
 with five long essays, discussing the circumstances 
 of his life, his traits of character, the religious aims 
 of his verse, its technical style, and a criticism of 
 the two manuscripts which assure us of his text. 
 A second volume held all his poems written before 
 he took orders, and a third those after that long- 
 deferred and climactic event. A new arrangement 
 of the poems was the distinctive feature of my 
 book. The traditional order was found by Nicho- 
 las Ferrar in the manuscript bequeathed to him by 
 Herbert, a manuscript now known as the Bodleian. 
 Ferrar followed it in printing his first edition of 
 1633, and up to 1905 its order was retained by all 
 editors. In 1874, by a discovery of the late Dr. 
 Grosart, a new and illuminating order became 
 possible. He found in the Williams Library in Lon- 
 
 ^ The English Works of George Herbert. Newly Arranged and 
 Annotated and Considered in Relation to his Life. By George 
 Herbert Palmer. 3 vols. Second edition, revised. 1907. 
 Houghton Mifflin Company, Boston. 
 
vi GENERAL PREFACE 
 
 don a second manuscript, largely in Herbert's 
 hand, containing half the poems but showing many 
 variations from the Bodleian. In constructing his 
 own text Dr. Grosart chose from the two manu- 
 scripts whatever reading pleased his taste. In the 
 fifth essay of my first volume I have presented the 
 reasons which convince me that the Williams 
 Manuscript antedates the Bodleian by about five 
 years. It shows, therefore, the state of Herbert's 
 verse before he went to Bemerton and thus for the 
 first time supplies an instrument for sorting the 
 poems. While it does not enable us precisely to 
 date them, we can now part the scholar's writings 
 from those of the priest, and in each of the two re- 
 sulting divisions traces can be found of facts in the 
 earlier and later life of Herbert. The poems I ac- 
 cordingly arrange in twelve significant Groups, 
 based partly on history, partly on subject-matter, 
 and steadied throughout by manuscript authority, 
 the reasons for each Group being stated in a brief 
 Preface. By this simple means a chaotic mass of 
 enigmatic verse is turned into a human docu- 
 ment permeated with the life of a high-bred, hesi- 
 tating, intellectual, and consecrated soul. 
 
 But the elaborateness of that book brought me 
 a certain discontent. It revealed the new Herbert 
 to scholars but hid him from the general public, 
 to whom also I wish him known. How suitably 
 might the groping man of to-day sympathize 
 with the conflicting moods of one who heard and 
 
GENERAL PREFACE vii 
 
 veraciously recorded the calls of God, pleasure, 
 choice society, high place, art, action, indolence! 
 The double-mindedness of this stormy and intro- 
 spective young man (cf . The Answer), too long mis- 
 taken for an aged and passionless saint, fits him 
 peculiarly for companionship with our uncertain 
 generation. But most friends of the spirit speak 
 from a pocket volume. My god-father shall have 
 one which will allow him to appeal, in all his com- 
 plexity, across the centuries to us. 
 
 No English poems by Herbert were published 
 during his life. That fact explains at once their 
 difficulty and their worth. They are private and 
 confessional writings, like the Portuguese Sonnets 
 or those of Shakspere. They were composed for 
 himself and not for the public, singularly truthful 
 and artistic expressions of his many moods. In 
 reading them one must imaginatively enter into 
 Herbert's mind, while he takes no pains to ease the 
 approach. For so independent a poet a comment- 
 ing editor may do much. Desiring to make my early 
 book a kind of encyclopaedia of Herbert, I printed 
 there a poem on each right page and reserved the 
 entire left for a series of notes. These notes, oc- 
 cupying as much space as the text itself, cannot be 
 reproduced here. But for their loss I offer a kind 
 of compensation in the Prefaces to the twelve 
 Groups, which will at least show the significance 
 of the poems which follow. In them too, and in the 
 Table of Dates, the development of Herbert's life 
 
X GENERAL PREFACE 
 
 Herbert was about the first to perceive that poems 
 should have soHd structure. He knew when to 
 stop. He supplies his pieces with a beginning, 
 middle, and end. No superfluity enters into their 
 unified form. Herbert, in short, is a conscious 
 artist; and before his time literary artistry was 
 little sought or understood. The mastery of firm 
 poetic form is one of the distinctive contributions 
 made by him to English verse. 
 
 A second is that to which I have already re- 
 ferred, the development of the religious love-lyric. 
 Common enough to-day is poetry which speaks the 
 vicissitudes of the individual soul seeking to yield 
 itself to its divine lover. But we forget that it was 
 Herbert who set the pattern of such poetry. With 
 what truthful freshness too and precision does he 
 utter his fervors ! In his daring, picturesque, and 
 condensed words we feel such power of the aphor- 
 istic phrase as was had previously only by his 
 friend Lord Bacon or by Shakspere himself. Re- 
 ligious verse is seldom transparently sincere. The 
 temptation is strong to say what is expected. But 
 how convincingly, surprisingly, true are Herbert's 
 lines ! To use the test by which Mill distinguished 
 poetry from eloquence, we rather over-hear than 
 hear him. Whoever will once work his way into 
 acquaintance with this strange poet will find him a 
 perpetual friend, endowed with noble speech, exact 
 and unusual thought, and a heartfelt, if humanly 
 wayward, allegiance to God's insistent call. 
 
DATES 
 
 1593. Herbert born at Montgomery Castle. 
 
 1597. Herbert's father dies and mother moves to 
 Oxford. 
 
 1603. James I King. Lady Herbert moves to Lon- 
 don. 
 
 1605. Herbert enters Westminster School. 
 
 1609. Lady Herbert marries Sir John Dan vers. 
 
 Herbert enters Trinity College, Cam- 
 bridge. 
 
 1610. Herbert's two sonnets to his mother. 
 1612. Herbert takes B.A. Degree and publishes 
 
 two Latin poems on death of Prince 
 Henry. 
 
 1616. Herbert takes M.A. and is appointed Major 
 Fellow of Trinity. 
 
 1619. Herbert appointed Public Orator at Cam- 
 bridge. Publishes Latin poem on death 
 of Queen Anne. 
 
 1623. Herbert receives from King the sinecure 
 Lay Rectorship of Whitford. Publishes 
 Latin Oration on reception of Buckingham. 
 
 1625. King James dies. Bacon dedicates to Her- 
 
 bert certain psalms. 
 
 1626. Herbert appointed Prebendary of Leighton 
 
 in Lincolnshire. His Latin Poem on Ba- 
 con's death. 
 
xii DATES 
 
 1627. Herbert's mother dies. He resigns Orator- 
 
 ship. His Latin Parentalia published. 
 
 1628. WiUiams Manuscript of Herbert's Poems 
 
 probably written about this time. 
 
 1629. Herbert marries Jane Danvers. 
 
 1630. Herbert takes priest's orders and the Parish 
 
 of Bemerton, Wiltshire. 
 
 1632. Herbert writes notes on Ferrar's translation 
 
 of Valdesso's Considerations. 
 
 1633. Death of Herbert at Bemerton. Ferrar 
 
 publishes The Temple at Cambridge. 
 
 1634. Cornaro's Treatise on Temperance^ trans- 
 
 lated by Herbert; published. 
 
 1652. Herbert's Remains, containing his Country 
 Parson and J acuta Prudentum, published. 
 
 1662. Herbert's early Latin poems, attacking An- 
 drew Melville, published. 
 
 1670. Izaak Walton's Life of Herbert, published. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 GROUP PAGE 
 
 THE DEDICATION xv 
 
 I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 1 
 
 II. THE RESOLVE 37 
 
 III. THE CHURCH 59 
 
 IV. MEDITATION 109 
 V. THE INNER LIFE 141 
 
 VI. THE CRISIS 167 
 
 VH. THE HAPPY PRIEST 211 
 
 VHI. JBEMERTON STUDY 243 
 
 IX. RESTLESSNESS 295 
 
 X. SUFFERING 333 
 
 XI. DEATH 371 
 
 XII. ADDITIONAL AND DOUBTFUL 
 
 POEMS 389 
 
 INDEX OF TITLES 421 
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 423 
 
THE DEDICATION 
 
 J^ORD, my first fruits present themselves to thee. 
 Yet not mine neither; for from thee they came. 
 And must return. Accept of them and me. 
 And make us strive who shall sing best thy name. 
 
 Turn their eyes hither who shall make a gain. 
 
 Theirs who shall hurt themselves or me, refrain. 
 
I 
 
 THE CHURCH-PORCH 
 
PREFACE 
 
 THE Church-Porch bears much the same re- 
 lation to Herbert's other poetry as the Jewish 
 Wisdom books — Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, Ecclesi- 
 asticus, and Wisdom — bear to the Psalms and the 
 Prophets. There is little religion in it, but shrewd 
 knowledge of men, manners, and methods of win- 
 ning eminence. It is a collection of wise saws and 
 modern instances which speak of precedents and 
 the best social usage. It is written by the friend of 
 Bacon, by the university courtier, the collector of 
 proverbs, the lover of a pregnant phrase. Its saga- 
 city of thought and expression, though strongly 
 marked by the temper of its time, has, like the 
 Wisdom of the Jews, held well the esteem of after 
 ages. Probably few parts of Herbert are less out- 
 grown. 
 
 Its theme determines its position. Propriety, 
 beauty, good judgment, familiarity with the best 
 customs, always of high importance in Herbert's 
 eyes, are here set forth as the suitable introduction 
 to religion, which itself lies beyond. This is the sig- 
 nificance of the title, The Church-Porch. Good 
 breeding opens the door of the Temple. Attention 
 to the refinements of life teaches the youth how to 
 behave himself in church. The results of Herbert's 
 
4 PREFACE TO 
 
 secular experience, which he always professed was 
 to prepare him for the priesthood, are here offered 
 to the young reader as his best preparation for the 
 spiritual fervors which follow. Purified of coarser 
 faults by good taste, he may become accessible to 
 the delicacies of divine love. 
 
 To this work of purification the enigmatic word 
 refers which follows the title. Perirrhanterium is 
 the Greek term for a sprinkling instrument. At 
 the entrance of the church stands a basin of holy 
 water, placed there to remind the intending wor- 
 shipper of his need of cleansing (Numbers viii, 7, 
 and Hebrews x, 22). According to the warning in 
 SuPERLiMiNARE, page 66, 1. 2, he is fit to enter the 
 temple itself only after being properly sprinkled 
 at the entrance. 
 
 The style of The Church-Porch, no less than 
 the spiritual conditions displayed in it, connects it 
 with Herbert's earlier life. It contains no state- 
 ment that its author is a priest, though he is deeply 
 interested in the priest's work and office. As it is 
 included in the WiUiams Manuscript, it must have 
 been written before 1630. But how greatly its 
 author valued it, and how steadily he labored on 
 its improvement, is proved by the multitude of 
 changes, great and slight, which were introduced 
 during the Bemerton years. Few of Herbert's 
 poems show so large a difference between their 
 earlier and their later forms. 
 
 The processes of alteration in The Church- 
 
THE CHURCH-PORCH 5 
 
 Porch which went on durmg the last half-dozen 
 years of Herbert's life are instructive as regards the 
 original methods of its composition. Probably 
 written piecemeal and not produced during any sin- 
 gle year, it possesses little organic unity. Its many 
 themes might be increased, diminished, or trans- 
 posed without injury to the plan. Why should a 
 single stanza on lying stand between considerable 
 discussions of swearing and of idleness.? Why 
 should the precepts on eating be parted from those 
 on drinking ? Or stanzas so similar as the eleventh 
 and fortieth be widely removed ? Or a single stanza 
 on conversation be introduced between gambling 
 and self-restraint, while the general discussion of 
 the subject follows fourteen stanzas later.? Many 
 such incongruities occur, a fact the more noticeable 
 and the more likely to be connected with temporal 
 causes because Herbert's artistic sense when exer- 
 cised on a small scale usually secures great firmness 
 of form. That The Church-Porch, however, 
 does not altogether lack plan is remarked by G. 
 Ryley, who quaintly writes: 
 
 "With his Perirrhanterium Herbert takes care 
 to sprinkle handfuls of advice to them that will 
 go to church. These he throws out under four 
 heads. 
 
 (1) Ethics or personal duties, 1. 1-150. 
 
 (2) (Economics or family duties, 1. 151-204. 
 
 (3) Politics or Sociable Maxims, 1. 205-384. 
 
 (4) La.stly he comes to scatter a handful or 
 
6 PREFACE TO 
 
 two of Ecclesiastics or Church Duties, 1. 385- 
 end." 1 
 
 The piece begins with the ruder sins and ad- 
 vances to the niceties of worship, the instructions 
 about public worship being more coherent than any 
 other part of the poem. These may have been 
 written last, when Herbert's long interest in the 
 priesthood was approaching a decision. In short, 
 the style and texture of the poem indicate that it 
 was begun early, that it grew by accretion rather 
 than construction, and that it never in its author's 
 mind was altogether finished. 
 
 How early it was begun seems hinted in The 
 Dedication. This solitary stanza stands to The 
 Church-Porch in about the same relation as 
 the Envoy to The Church Militant. While not 
 exactly a part of the poem, the poem would be in- 
 complete without it, and it v/ould be fragmentary 
 without The Church-Porch. It is written to in- 
 troduce something. And while what it introduces 
 includes more than The Church-Porch, it is with 
 
 1 This and many subsequent quotations are taken from 
 a manuscript of four hundred pages, written by a certain 
 George Ryley in 1714 and now in the Bodleian Library. 
 Of Ryley's history nothing is known. His volume forms an 
 elaborate commentary on Herbert's poems, in which they 
 are all passed in review and expounded with reference to 
 their religious import. Ryley's aims and my own are so 
 divergent that I have been able to quote him less often 
 than I should like, especially as I obtained a copy of his 
 manuscript only after my notes were practically complete. 
 
THE CHURCH-PORCH 7 
 
 this that The Dedication primarily joins itself, 
 being identical with it in sententious metre. Ac- 
 cordingly, though in the Bodleian Manuscript it is 
 printed on the title-page, in Ferrar's Edition and 
 in the Williams Manuscript it stands on a leaf by 
 itself just before The Church-Porch, which it 
 serves as a kind of antecedent stanza. When this 
 connection is once recognized, its mention of first 
 fruits becomes significant. 
 
 In 1613 Herbert contributed two Latin poems to 
 the Cambridge Elegies on the death of Prince 
 Henry, and in 1619 a Latin poem to the Elegies on 
 Queen Anne. His Angli Musae Responsoriae, 
 or reply to Melville, had long been in circulation. In 
 1623 he printed his Latin Oration on the return 
 from Spain of Prince Charles and Buckingham. 
 Would the phrase first fruits naturally have been 
 used after so many publications ? It is clear 
 (p. 45) that by 1610 Herbert had formed a resolu- 
 tion to consecrate all his abilities in poetry to 
 God's glory. Between this date and 1613 I think 
 The Dedication was most probably drawn up, 
 the metre of The Church-Porch selected, and the 
 poem itself at least begun. The large amount of 
 secular matter, the borrowed and regular measure, 
 and the hortatory style — peculiarities absent from 
 Herbert's other work — suggest an early date. 
 
 A comparison of The Church-Porch with Her- 
 bert's other long poems. The Church Militant 
 and The Sacrifice, throws light on the character 
 
8 PREFACE TO 
 
 of each and fixes the place of each in the collection. 
 The Church Militant, in both manuscripts and 
 in Ferrar's original edition, stands at the close, ap- 
 pearing there almost as an independent work. The 
 preceding poems are separated from it by the word 
 Finis and a Gloria. In order not to break the con- 
 tinuity of the lyric verse, I retain this late position 
 of The Church Militant, though I believe it to 
 be one of the very earliest of Herbert's poems. Sub- 
 stantially also I keep the positions of the other two 
 unchanged ; for dissimilar as is The Sacrifice 
 from everything else Herbert wrote, it is not, like 
 The Church Militant, a detachable piece. In 
 its elaborate display of the forthgoing love of God 
 and the averseness of man, it is plainly intended 
 as the natural presupposition and starting-point 
 of all the subsequent verse. I respect this inten- 
 tion and keep its priority unchanged. To devise 
 another position for The Church-Porch is obvi- 
 ously impossible. 
 
 It may not be fanciful, however, to find the dis- 
 tinctive character of these three poems in their per- 
 sonal pronouns. Each has one peculiar to itself. 
 That of The Church Militant is the third, he or 
 it; for this poem alone is descriptive and historical. 
 The pronoun of The Sacrifice is Z, a word which 
 gives color to nearly all of Herbert's verse, but has 
 here a unique employment. It is used as the pro- 
 noun of a monologue, of Herbert's single attempt 
 at sustained dramatic speech. The pronoun of 
 
THE CHURCH-PORCH 9 
 
 The Church-Porch is announced in its first word, 
 Thou, this being the only occasion on which Her- 
 bert attempts a piece of instruction. Charims and 
 Knots and Constancie are similar in substance, 
 but the form of direct address is not employed. 
 Thou appears not infrequently in Herbert's other 
 poems. But elsewhere it marks the address of the 
 writer to himself or to God. It is a part of that 
 inner communion so characteristic of The Tem- 
 ple, an appeal to the worser self by the better, 
 and not, as in the case of The Church-Porch, 
 an exhortation addressed to some one stand- 
 ing by. 
 
 The metre of The Church-Porch is the same as 
 that used in Sinnes Round, page 283, and, with a 
 peculiar adaptation of the final line, in The Water- 
 course, page 284. The metre was a favorite one 
 in Herbert's time. It had already been employed 
 by Sidney in some of the songs of his Arcadia; 
 by Spenser in Astrophel, The Ruines of Time, and 
 in two sections of The Shepherd's Calendar ; by 
 Shakespeare in Venus and iVdonis ; and more fre- 
 quently than any other metre by Southwell. It 
 appears also in Breton, Lord Brooke, Campion, 
 Donne, Drummond, Lord Herbert, Overbury, 
 Quarles, and Wither. It generally serves these 
 writers as a metre of instruction. 
 
10 I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 
 
 THE CHURCH-PORCH 
 
 PERIRRHANTERIUM 
 
 Thou whose sweet youth and early hopes inhance 
 Thy rate and price, and mark thee for a treasure. 
 
 Hearken unto a Verser, who may chance 
 
 Ryme thee to good, and make a bait of pleasure. 
 
 A verse may finde him who a sermon flies, 5 
 
 And turn delight into a sacrifice. 
 
 II 
 
 Beware of lust : it doth pollute and foul 
 
 Whom God in Baptisme washt with his own 
 blood. 
 It blots thy lesson written in thy soul; 
 
 The holy lines cannot be understood. 10 
 
 How dare those eyes upon a Bible look, 
 Much lesse towards God, whose lust is all their 
 book? 
 
I. THE CHURCH-PORCH n 
 
 III 
 
 Abstain wholly, or wed. Thy bounteous Lord 
 Allows thee choise of paths. Take no by-wayes. 
 
 But gladly welcome what he doth afford; 15 
 
 Not grudging that thy lust hath bounds and 
 staies. 
 
 Continence hath his joy. Weigh both; and so 
 
 K rottennesse have more, let Heaven go. 
 
 IV 
 
 If God had laid all common, certainly 
 
 Man would have been th' incloser ; but since 
 now 
 God hath impal'd us, on the contrarie 21 
 
 Man breaks the fence and every ground will 
 plough. 
 O what were man might he himself misplace ! 
 Sure, to be crosse, he would shift feet and face. 
 
 V 
 
 Drink not the third glasse, which thou canst not 
 tame 25 
 
 When once it is within thee; but before, 
 Mayst rule it as thou list and poure the shame, 
 
 Which it would poure on thee, upon the floore. 
 It is most just to throw that on the ground 29 
 
 Which would throw me there, if I keep the round. 
 
12 I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 
 
 VI 
 
 He that is drunken may his mother kill, 
 
 Bigge with his sister. He hath lost the reins, 
 
 Is outlawd by himself. All kinde of ill 
 
 Did with his liquour slide into his veins. 34 
 
 The drunkard forfets Man, and doth devest 
 
 All worldly right save what he hath by beast. 
 
 VII 
 
 Shall I, to please another's wine-sprung minde, 
 Lose all mine own? God hath giv'n me a 
 measure 
 
 Short of his canne and bodie. Must I finde 39 
 A pain in that wherein he findes a pleasure ? 
 
 Stay at the third glasse. If thou lose thy hold, 
 
 Then thou art modest, and the wine grows bold. 
 
 VIII 
 
 If reason move not Gallants, quit the room, 
 (All in a shipwrack shift their severall way,) 
 
 Let not a common ruine thee intombe. 45 
 
 Be not a beast in courtesie. But stay. 
 
 Stay at the third cup, or forego the place. 
 
 Wine above all tilings doth God's stamp deface. 
 
I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 13 
 
 IX 
 
 Yet if thou sinne in wine or wantonnesse, 
 
 Boast not thereof nor make thy shame thy glorie. 
 
 Frailtie gets pardon by submissivenesse ; 51 
 
 But he that boasts shuts that out of his storie. 
 
 He makes flat warre with God, and doth defie 
 
 With his poore clod of earth the spacious sky. 
 
 Take not his name, who made thy mouth, in vain : 
 It gets thee nothing, and hath no excuse. 56 
 
 Lust and wine plead a pleasure, avarice gain: 
 But the cheap swearer through his open since 
 
 Lets his soul runne for nought, as little fearing. 
 
 Were I an Epicure, I could bate swearing. 60 
 
 XI 
 
 When thou dost tell another's jest, therein 
 Omit the oathes, which true wit cannot need. 
 
 Pick out of tales the mirth, but not the sinne. 
 He pares his apple that will cleanly feed. 
 
 Play not away the vertue of that name 65 
 
 Which is thy best stake when griefs make thee tame. 
 
14 I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 
 
 XII 
 
 The cheapest sinnes most dearely punisht are. 
 Because to shun them also is so cheap; 
 
 For we have wit to mark them, and to spare. 
 O crumble not away thy soul's fair heap. 70 
 
 If thou wilt die, the gates of hell are broad; 
 
 Pride and full sinnes have made the way a road. 
 
 XIII 
 
 Lie not; but let thy heart be true to God, 
 Thy mouth to it, thy actions to them both. 
 
 Cowards tell lies, and those that fear the rod; 75 
 The stormie working soul spits lies and froth. 
 
 Dare to be true. Nothing can need a ly. 
 
 A fault which needs it most grows two thereby. 
 
 XIV 
 
 Flie idlenesse; which yet thou canst not flie 
 
 By dressing, mistressing, and complement. 80 
 
 If those take up thy day, the sunne will crie 
 Against thee; for his light was onely lent. 
 
 God gave thy soul brave wings; put not those 
 feathers 
 
 Into a bed, to sleep out all ill weathers. 
 
I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 15 
 
 XV 
 
 Art thou a Magistrate ? Then be severe. 85 
 
 If studious, copie fair what time hath blurr'd; 
 
 Redeem truth from his jawes. If souldier. 
 
 Chase brave employments with a naked sword 
 
 Throughout the world. Fool not: for all may 
 have. 
 
 If they dare try, a glorious life or grave. 90 
 
 XVI 
 
 O England! full of sinne, but most of sloth, 
 Spit out thy flegme and fill thy brest with 
 glorie. 
 
 Thy Gentrie bleats, as if thy native cloth 
 Transfus'd a sheepishnesse into thy storie. 
 
 Not that they all are so; but that the most 95 
 
 Are gone to grasse and in the pasture lost. 
 
 XVII 
 
 This losse springs chiefly from our education. 
 
 Some till their ground, but let weeds choke their 
 Sonne; 
 Some mark a partridge, never their childe 's fashion ; 
 
 Some ship them over, and the thing is done. 
 Studie this art, make it thy great designe; 101 
 And if God's image move thee not, let thine. 
 
16 I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 
 
 XVIII 
 
 Some great estates provide, but doe not breed 
 A mast'ring minde; so both are lost thereby. 
 
 Or els they breed them tender, make them need 
 All that they leave; this is flat povertie. 106 
 
 For he that needs five thousand pound to live 
 
 Is full as poore as he that needs but five. 
 
 XIX 
 
 The way to make thy sonne rich is to fill 109 
 His minde with rest before his trunk with riches. 
 
 For wealth without contentment climbes a hill 
 To feel those tempests which fly over ditches. 
 
 But if thy sonne can make ten pound his measure, 
 
 Then all thou addest may be call'd his treasure. 
 
 XX 
 
 When thou dost purpose ought, (within thy power,) 
 Be sure to doe it, though it be but small. 116 
 
 Constancie knits the bones and makes us stowre 
 When wanton pleasures becken us to thrall. 
 
 Who breaks his own bond forfeiteth himself. 
 
 What nature made a ship he makes a shelf. 
 
I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 17 
 
 XXI 
 
 Doe all things like a man, not sneakingly. 121 
 Think the king sees thee still; for his King 
 does. 
 
 Simpring is but a lay-hypocrisie : 
 
 Give it a corner, and the clue undoes. 
 
 Who fears to do ill, sets himself to task; 125 
 
 Who fears to do well, sure should wear a mask. 
 
 XXII 
 
 Look to thy mouth; diseases enter there. 
 
 Thou hast two sconses if thy stomack call: 
 Carve, or discourse. Do not a famine fear. 129 
 
 Who carves, is kind to two; who talks, to all. 
 Look on meat, think it dirt, then eat a bit; 
 And say withall, Earth to earth I commit. 
 
18 I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 
 
 XXIII 
 
 Slight those who say amidst their sickly healths, 
 Thou liv'st by rule. What doth not so but man ? 
 
 Houses are built by rule, and common- wealths. 
 Entice the trusty sunne, if that you can, 136 
 
 From his Ecliptick line; becken the skie. 
 
 Who lives by rule, then, keeps good companie. 
 
 XXIV 
 
 Who keeps no guard upon himself is slack. 
 And rots to nothing at the next great thaw. 
 
 Man is a shop of rules, a well truss'd pack, 141 
 Whose every parcell under-writes a law. 
 
 Lose not thy self, nor give thy humours way; 
 
 God gave them to thee under lock and key. 
 
 :\/ XXV 
 
 By all means use sometimes to be alone. 145 
 
 Salute thy self, see what thy soul doth wear. 
 Dare to look in thy chest, for 't is thine own. 
 And tumble up and down what thou find*st 
 there. 
 Who cannot rest till hee good fellows finde. 
 He breaks up house, turns out of doores his 
 minde. 150 
 
I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 19 
 
 XXVI 
 
 Be thriftie, but not covetous; therefore give 
 Thy need, thine honour, and thy friend his 
 due. 
 
 Never was scraper brave man. Get to Kve; 
 Then Hve, and use it. Els, it is not true 
 
 That thou hast gotten. Surely use alone 155 
 
 Makes money not a contemptible stone. 
 
 XXVII 
 
 Never exceed thy income. Youth may make 
 Ev'n with the yeare; but age, if it will hit, 
 
 Shoots a bow short, and lessens still his stake 
 As the day lessens, and his life with it. 160 
 
 Thy children, kindred, friends upon thee call; 
 
 Before thy journey fairly part with all. 
 
 XXVIII 
 
 Yet in thy thriving still misdoubt some evil; 
 Lest gaining gain on thee, and make thee 
 dimme 164 
 
 To all things els. Wealth is the conjurer's devil ; 
 Whom when he thinks he hath, the devil hath 
 him. 
 Gold thou mayst safely touch; but if it stick 
 Unto thy hands, it woundeth to the quick. 
 
20 I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 
 
 XXIX 
 
 What skills it if a bag of stones or gold 169 
 
 About thy neck do drown thee ? Raise thy head, 
 
 Take starres for money; starres not to be told 
 By any art, yet to be purchased. 
 
 None is so wastefull as the scraping dame. 
 
 She loseth three for one: her soul, rest, fame. 
 
 XXX 
 
 By no means runne in debt. Take thine own mea- 
 sure. 175 
 
 Who cannot live on twentie pound a yeare 
 Cannot on fourtie; he's a man of pleasure, 
 
 A kinde of thing that's for it self too deare. 
 The curious unthrift makes his cloth too wide. 
 And spares himself, but would his taylor chide. 
 
 XXXI 
 
 Spend not on hopes. They that by pleading clothes 
 Do fortunes seek, when worth and service fail, 
 
 Would have their tale beleeved for their oathes. 
 And are hke empty vessels under sail. 184 
 
 Old courtiers know this ; therefore set out so 
 
 As all the day thou mayst hold out to go. 
 
L THE CHURCH-PORCH 21 
 
 xxxn 
 
 In clothes, cheap handsomenesse doth bear the 
 bell. 
 Wisedome's a trimmer thing then shop e're 
 gave. 
 Say not then, This with that lace will do well; 
 
 But, This with my discretion will be brave. 
 Much curiousnesse is a perpetuall wooing, 191 
 Nothing with labour, folly long a doing. 
 
 XXXIII 
 
 Play not for gain, but sport. Who playes for more 
 Then he can lose with pleasure, stakes his 
 heart ; 
 Perhaps his wive's too, and whom she hath bore; 
 
 Servants and churches also play their part. 196 
 Onely a herauld, who that way doth passe, 
 Findes liis crackt name at length in the church- 
 glasse. 
 
22 I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 
 
 XXXIV 
 
 If yet thou love game at so deere a rate, 199 
 
 Learn this, that hath old gamesters deerely cost: 
 
 Dost lose ? Rise up. Dost winne ? Rise in that 
 state. 
 Who strive to sit out losing hands, are lost. 
 
 Game is a civil gunpowder, in peace 
 
 Blowing up houses with their whole increase. 
 
 XXXV 
 
 In conversation boldnesse now bears sway. 205 
 But know that nothing can so foolish be 
 
 As empty boldnesse. Therefore first assay 
 To stuffe thy minde with solid braverie, 
 
 Then march on gallant. Get substantiall worth. 
 
 Boldnesse guilds finely and will set it forth. 
 
 XXXVI 
 
 Be sweet to all. Is thy complexion sowre? 211 
 Then keep such companie, make them thy allay. 
 
 Get a sharp wife, a servant that will lowre. 
 A stumbler stumbles least in rugged way. 
 
 Command thy self in chief. He life's warre 
 knows 215 
 
 Whom all his passions follow as he goes. 
 
I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 23 
 
 XXXVII 
 
 Catch not at quarrels. He that dares not speak 
 Plainly and home is coward of the two. 218 
 
 Think not thy fame at ev'ry twitch will break. 
 By great deeds shew that thou canst little do, 
 
 And do them not. That shall thy wisdome be, 
 
 And change thy temperance into braverie. 
 
 XXXVIII 
 
 If that thy fame with ev'ry toy be pos'd, 
 
 'T is a thinne webbe, which poysonous fancies 
 make. 224 
 
 But the great souldier's honour was compos'd 
 Of thicker stuffe, which would endure a shake. 
 
 Wisdome picks friends; civilitie playes the rest. 
 
 A toy shunn'd cleanly passeth with the best. 
 
 XXXIX 
 
 Laugh not too much. The wittie man laughs least ; 
 
 For wit is newes onely to ignorance. 230 
 
 Lesse at thine own things laugh; lest in the jest 
 
 Thy person share, and the conceit advance. 
 Make not thy sport, abuses; for the fly 
 That feeds on dung is coloured thereby. 
 
24 I. THE CHURCH-PORCH. 
 
 XL 
 
 Pick out of mirth, like stones out of thy ground, 
 Profanenesse, filthinesse, abusivenesse. 236 
 
 These are the scumme with which course wits 
 abound. 
 The fine may spare these well, yet not go lesse. 
 
 All things are bigge with jest ; nothing that's plain 
 
 But may be wittie if thou hast the vein. 240 
 
 XLI 
 
 Wit's an unruly engine, wildly striking 
 
 Sometimes a friend, sometimes the engineer. 
 
 Hast thou the knack ? Pamper it not with liking ; 
 But if thou want it, buy it not too deere. 
 
 Many, affecting wit beyond their power, 245 
 
 Have got to be a deare fool for an houre. 
 
 XLII 
 
 A sad wise valour is the brave complexion 
 
 That leads the van and swallows up the cities. 
 
 The gigler is a milk-maid, whom infection 
 
 Or a fir'd beacon frighteth from his ditties. 250 
 
 Then he's the sport; the mirth then in him rests. 
 
 And the sad man is cock of all his jests. 
 
I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 25 
 
 XLIII 
 
 Towards great persons use respective boldnesse. 
 
 That temper gives them theirs, and yet doth 
 take 
 Nothing from thine. In service, care or coldnesse 
 
 Doth ratably thy fortunes marre or make. 256 
 Feed no man in his sinnes; for adulation 
 Doth make thee parcell-devil in damnation. 
 
 XLIV 
 
 Envie not greatnesse; for thou mak'st thereby 
 Thy self the worse, and so the distance greater. 
 
 Be not thine own worm. Yet such jealousie 261 
 As hurts not others, but may make thee better, 
 
 Is a good spurre. Correct thy passions' spite; 
 
 Then may the beasts draw thee to happy light. 
 
26 I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 
 
 XLV 
 
 When basenesse is exalted, do not bate 265 
 
 The place its honour for the person's sake. 
 
 The shrine is that which thou dost venerate, 
 And not the beast that bears it on his back. 
 
 I care not though the cloth of state should be 
 
 Not of rich arras, but mean tapestrie. 270 
 
 XLVI 
 
 Thy friend put in thy bosome; wear his eies 
 Still in thy heart that he may see what's there. 
 
 If cause require, thou art his sacrifice; 
 
 Thy drops of bloud must pay down all his fear. 
 
 But love is lost, the way of friendship's gone, 
 
 Though David had his Jonathariy Christ his 
 John. 276 
 
 XL VII 
 
 Yet be not surety if thou be a father. 
 
 Love is a personall debt. I cannot give 
 My children's right, nor ought he take it. Rather 
 
 Both friends should die then hinder them to live. 
 Fathers first enter bonds to nature's ends, 281 
 And are her sureties ere they are a friend's. 
 
I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 27 
 
 XL VIII 
 
 If thou be single, all thy goods and ground 
 Submit to love; but yet not more then all. 
 
 Give one estate, as one life. None is bound 285 
 To work for two, who brought himself to thrall. 
 
 God made me one man; love makes me no more, 
 
 Till labour come and make my weaknesse score. 
 
 XLIX 
 
 In thy discourse, if thou desire to please, 
 All such is courteous, useful!, new, or wittie. 
 
 Usefulnesse comes by labour, wit by ease, 291 
 Courtesie grows in court, news in the citie. 
 
 Get a good stock of these, then draw the card 
 
 That suites him best of whom thy speech is 
 heard. 
 
 Entice all neatly to what they know Lest; 295 
 For so thou dost thy self and him a pleasure. 
 
 But a proud ignorance will lose his rest 
 
 Rather then shew his cards. Steal from his trea- 
 sure 
 
 What to ask further. Doubts well rais'd do lock 
 
 The speaker to thee and preserve thy stock. 300 
 
28 I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 
 
 LI 
 
 If thou be Master-gunner, spend not all 
 
 That thou canst speak at once; but husband it, 
 
 And give men turns of speech. Do not forestall 
 By lavishnesse thine own and others' wit. 
 
 As if thou mad'st thy will. A civil guest 305 
 
 Will no more talk all, then eat all, the feast. 
 
 LII 
 
 Be calm in arguing; for fiercenesse makes 
 Errour a fault, and truth discourtesie. 
 
 Why should I feel another man's mistakes 
 
 More then his sicknesses or povertie "^ 310 
 
 In love I should; but anger is not love, 
 
 Nor wisdome neither. Therefore gently move. 
 
 LIII 
 
 Calmnesse is great advantage. He that lets 
 Another chafe may warm him at his fire, 
 
 Mark all his wandrings, and enjoy his frets; 315 
 As cunning fencers suffer heat to tire. 
 
 Truth dwels not in the clouds; the bow that's 
 there 
 
 Doth often aim at, never hit the sphere. 
 
I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 29 
 
 LIV 
 
 Mark what another sayes; for many are 319 
 
 Full of themselves and answer their own notion. 
 
 Take all into thee; then with equall care 
 
 Ballance each dramme of reason, like a potion. 
 
 If truth be with thy friend, be with them both ; 
 
 Share in the conquest and confesse a troth. 
 
 LV 
 
 Be usefuU where thou livest, that they may 325 
 Both want and wish thy pleasing presence still. 
 
 Kindnesse, good parts, great places are the way 
 To compasse this. Finde out men's wants and 
 will, 
 
 And meet them there. All worldly joyes go lesse 
 
 To the one joy of doing kindnesses. 330 
 
 LVI 
 
 Pitch thy behaviour low, thy projects high; 
 
 So shalt thou humble and magnanimous be. 
 Sink not in spirit. Who aimeth at the sky 
 
 Shoots higher much then he that means a tree. 
 A grain of glorie mixt with humblenesse 335 
 
 Cures both a fever and lethargicknesse. 
 
30 I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 
 
 LVII 
 
 Let thy minde still be bent still plotting where, 
 And when, and how the businesse may be done. 
 
 Slacknesse breeds worms; but the sure traveller. 
 Though he alight sometimes, still goeth on. 
 
 Active and stirring spirits live alone. 341 
 
 Write on the others. Here lies such a one. 
 
 LVIII 
 
 Slight not the smallest losse, whether it be 
 In love or honour, take account of all. 
 
 Shine like the sunne in every corner. See 345 
 Whether thy stock of credit swell or fall. 
 
 Who say, I care not, those I give for lost; 
 
 And to instruct them, 't will not quit the cost. 
 
 LIX 
 
 Scorn no man's love, though of a mean degree; 
 
 (Love is a present for a mightie king) 350 
 
 Much lesse make any one thine enemie. 
 
 As gunnes destroy, so may a little sling. 
 The cunning workman never doth refuse 
 The meanest tool that he may chance to use. 
 
I, THE CHURGH-PORCH 31 
 
 LX 
 
 All forrain wisdome doth amount to this, 355 
 
 To take all that is given: whether wealth, 
 
 Or love, or language; nothing comes amisse. 
 A good digestion turneth all to health. 
 
 And then as farre as fair behaviour may, 
 
 Strike off all scores ; none are so cleare as they. 
 
 LXI 
 
 Keep all thy native good and naturalize 361 
 
 All forrain of that name, but scorn their ill: 
 
 Embrace their activenesse, not vanities. 
 Who follows all things forfeiteth his will. 
 
 If thou observest strangers in each fit, 365 
 
 In time they'l runne thee out of all thy wit. 
 
 LXII 
 
 Affect in things about thee cleanlinesse, 
 
 That all may gladly board thee, as a flowre. 
 
 Slovens take up their stock of noisomnesse 369 
 Beforehand, and anticipate their last houre. 
 
 Let thy minde's sweetnesse have his operation 
 
 Upon thy body, clothes, and habitation. 
 
32 I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 
 
 LXIII 
 
 In Almes regard thy means and others' merit. 
 
 Think heav'n a better bargain then to give 
 Onely thy single market-money for it. 375 
 
 Joyn hands with God to make a man to Hve. 
 Give to all something; to a good poore man. 
 Till thou change names and be where he began. 
 
 LXIV 
 
 Man is God*s image, but a poore man is 379 
 
 Christ's stamp to boot; both images regard. 
 
 God reckons for him, counts the favour his. 
 Write, So much giv'n to God; thou shalt be 
 heard. 
 
 Let thy almes go before and keep heav'n's gate 
 
 Open for thee, or both may come too late. 
 
 LXV 
 
 Restore to God his due in tithe and time. 385 
 A tithe purloin'd cankers the whole estate. 
 
 Sundaies observe : think when the bells do chime, 
 'T is angels' musick; therefore come not late. 
 
 God then deals blessings. If a king did so, 
 
 Who would not haste, nay give, to see the show ? 
 
I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 33 
 
 LXVI 
 
 Twice on the day his due is understood; 391 
 
 For all the week thy food so oft he gave thee. 
 
 Thy cheere is mended; bate not of the food 
 Because 't is better, and perhaps may save thee. 
 
 Thwart not th' Almighty God. O be not crosse! 
 
 Fast when thou wilt ; but then 't is gain, not 
 losse. 396 
 
 LXVII 
 
 Though private prayer be a brave designe, 
 Yet publick hath more promises, more love; 
 
 And love's a weight to hearts, to eies a signe. 
 We all are but cold suitours; let us move 400 
 
 Where it is warmest. Leave thy six and seven; 
 
 Pray with the most : for where most pray is 
 heaven. 
 
 LXVIII 
 
 When once thy foot enters the church, be bare. 
 God is more there then thou : for thou art 
 there 
 Onely by his permission. Then beware, 405 
 
 And make thy self all reverence and fear. 
 Kneeling ne're spoil'd silk stocking. Quit thy 
 
 state. 
 All equall are within the churches gate. 
 
34 I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 
 
 LXIX 
 
 Resort to sermons, but to prayers most: 409 
 
 Praying's the end of preaching. O be drest, 
 
 Stay not for th' other pin. Why thou hast lost 
 A joy for it worth worlds. Thus hell doth jest 
 
 Away thy blessings, and extreamly flout thee ; 
 
 Thy clothes being fast, but thy soul loose about 
 thee. 
 
 LXX 
 
 In time of service seal up both thine eies, 415 
 And send them to thine heart; that spying 
 sinne. 
 They may weep out the stains by them did rise. 
 Those doores being shut, all by the eare comes 
 in. 
 Who marks in church-time others' symmetric, 
 Makes all their beautie his deformitie. 420 
 
 LXXI 
 
 Let vain or busie thoughts have there no part: 
 Bring not thy plough, thy plots, thy pleasures 
 thither. 
 Christ purg'd his temple; so must thou thy heart. 
 All worldly thoughts are but theeves met to- 
 gether 
 To couzin thee. Look to thy actions well: 425 
 For churches are either our heav'n or hell. 
 
I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 35 
 
 LXXII 
 
 Judge not the preacher; for he is thy Judge. 
 
 If thou mishke him, thou conceiv'st him not. 
 God calleth preaching folly. Do not grudge 
 
 To pick out treasures from an earthen pot. 
 The worst speak something good ; if all want 
 sense, 431 
 
 God takes a text and preacheth patience. 
 
 LXXIII 
 
 He that gets patience, and the blessing which 
 Preachers conclude with, hath not lost his 
 pains. 434 
 
 He that by being at church escapes the ditch, 
 
 Which he might fall in by companions, gains. 
 He that loves God's abode, and to combine 
 With saints on earth, shall one day with them 
 shine. 
 
 LXXIV 
 
 Jest not at preachers' language or expression. 
 
 How know'st thou but thy sinnes made him 
 miscarrie ? 440 
 
 Then turn thy faults and his into confession. 
 
 God sent him, whatsoe're he be. O tarry. 
 And love him for his Master. His condition. 
 Though it be ill, makes him no ill Physician. 
 
36 I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 
 
 LXXV 
 
 None shall in hell such bitter pangs endure, 445 
 As those who mock at God's way of salvation. 
 
 Whom oil and balsames kill, what salve can cure ? 
 They drink with greedinesse a full damnation. 
 
 The Jews refused thunder; and we, folly. 449 
 
 Though God do hedge us in, yet who is holy.^ 
 
 LXXVI 
 
 Summe up at night what thou hast done by day; 
 
 And in the morning, what thou hast to do. 
 Dresse and undresse thy soul: mark the decay 
 
 And growth of it; if with thy watch, that too 
 Be down, then winde up both. Since we shall be 
 Most surely judg'd, make thy accounts agree. 
 
 LXXVII 
 
 In brief, acquit thee bravely; play the man. 
 
 Look not on pleasures as they come, but go. 
 Deferre not the least vertue. Life's poore span 
 
 Make not an ell by trifling in thy wo. 460 
 
 If thou do ill, the joy fades, not the pains: 
 If well, the pain doth fade, the joy remains. 
 
II 
 
 THE RESOLVE 
 
•i 
 
PREFACE 
 
 THE poems of this fundamental Group an- 
 nounce the resolve of Herbert to become a 
 poet, and state certain ends which he desires his 
 poetry to accomplish. He will antagonize the love- 
 poets of his day, employing against them, however, 
 all their own vigorous intellectuality, passionate 
 enthusiasm, and technical resource. All poetry 
 has the single theme of love, but hitherto poets 
 have misconceived it. They belittle love by far- 
 celling it out, erroneously confining it to the petty 
 relations of men and women. It shall be Her- 
 bert's task to set it forth in its native fulness, and 
 to reveal it as a world-principle, working on an 
 infinite scale and drawing together God and man. 
 The conception of love here advocated is sub- 
 stantially that set forth by Plato in his Lysis, 
 Phaedrus, and Symposium. Adopted by the Neo- 
 Platonists, it influenced through them many of 
 the Church Fathers. During the Renaissance it 
 gained a wider currency through Ficinus* Latin 
 translations of Plato, through his commentary on 
 Plato's Symposium, and especially through its elo- 
 quent presentation in the fourth Book of Castigli- 
 one's Courtier. French poetry became affected by 
 it. The group of writers who gathered about Sir 
 
40 PREFACE TO 
 
 Philip Sidney, and who looked to France and Italy 
 for inspiration, took it up. Spenser, employing it 
 to some extent in The Faerie Queene, gave it 
 magnificent expression in his Hymns in Honour 
 of Love and Beauty. During the first half of the 
 seventeenth century Platonism through all its teach- 
 ings entered profoundly into English thought. At 
 the University, just after Herbert's time, there was 
 formed a considerable group of Cambridge Plato- 
 nists, of whom Henry More and Ralph Cudworth 
 are the best known. One of the later members of 
 this company, and a successor of Herbert in the 
 Bemerton Rectory, John Norris, in his Essay on 
 I^ove and his translation of Waring' s Picture of 
 Love, gave in beautiful English prose an elaborate 
 exposition of Platonic love. A copy of this latter 
 book (4th edition, 1744) is in my possession which 
 once belonged to R. W. Emerson, and was given 
 by him to a philosophic friend. It may be, there- 
 fore, that Emerson's Essay on Love, one of the 
 best modern statements of the Platonic doctrine, 
 received contributions from Bemerton itself. 
 
 In brief, Plato taught that love is our passion for 
 unity, for wholeness. As Love inspires our search, 
 so does Beauty make known its end. For wher- 
 ever in nature we catch glimpses of harmonious 
 adjustment, the wholeness there suggested affects 
 us as beautiful and prompts us to approach. 
 Following the clue of Beauty, then, we may say 
 that Love directs every rational life. Originally 
 
THE RESOLVE 41 
 
 one with God, with the universe, and with one 
 another, we find ourselves now in the present 
 world detached and fragmentary. Feehng this 
 fragmentariness, as the wise unceasingly do, we 
 are horror-stricken and lonely. We long for sup- 
 plementation. We turn to the objects around us, 
 and especially to one another, to obtain that whole- 
 ness which we feel ourselves to lack. To our eyes 
 those we love are always beautiful, and we are 
 restlessly eager to join them. Yet such lesser unions 
 continually bring disappointment and a new sense 
 of incompleteness. Their little wholenesses are, 
 after all, but fragmentary, their function being to 
 disclose the necessity of the one ultimate and only 
 adequate wholeness. In reality there can be but 
 one, that which is found in union with Goodness, 
 God, the Ideal, Heavenly Beauty, that Love which 
 is the authour of this great frame. Truly to love is 
 to look through all else to Him. 
 
 We must, then, clear away the special conditions 
 under which Love first appears, if we would rise to 
 a knowledge of its nature. " The eye of Love," says 
 Emerson in one of his letters, " falls on some mortal 
 form, but it rests not a moment there. As every 
 leaf represents to us all vegetable nature, so Love 
 looks through that spotted blighted form to the 
 vast spiritual element of which it was created and 
 which it represents." When Love is true to itself 
 as the passion for perfection, it continually super- 
 sedes its lower forms in the interest of what is 
 
/ 
 
 42 PREFACE TO 
 
 larger. None of these inferior forms is so obscuring, 
 so little regardful of anything beyond itself, as that 
 instinctive passion between the sexes which tries 
 to monopolize the name of Love. Friendship is 
 more intelligent. Unities of a still wider and firmer 
 kind are disclosed in the social, artistic, and scien- 
 tific impulses. These are all prompted by Love 
 and follow increasing grades of Beauty. Religion, 
 however, alone reveals the full significance of these 
 struggles toward conjunction ; for God is the only 
 complete wholeness, and every endeavor to unite 
 with other things or persons is but a blind seeking 
 after Him. 
 
 Plato's doctrine of love has many aspects, which 
 variously influenced other English poets. I de- 
 velop here only that quantitative presentation of it 
 which peculiarly appealed to Herbert's practical 
 and non-mystical mind. In this Group of poems he 
 applies the doctrine as he understands it, resolving 
 to devote himself to abolishing love's blindness. 
 Like all poets he will sing of love, but not of that 
 fettering attachment to particular persons which 
 is miscalled by its great name. Even in his two 
 youthful sonnets he has discovered the emptiness 
 and necessary artificiality of this. The theme of 
 all his verse shall be the striving of the soul after 
 union with God, who is conceived as a definite 
 detached person hostile to subordinate manifesta- 
 tions of himself. This all-excluding devotion to 
 God Herbert carefully expounds in the two sonnets 
 
THE RESOLVE 43 
 
 on Love; defends it against the love-poets in the 
 first Jordan; in the second Jordan sees that his 
 own exuberant disposition exposes him to the very 
 errors he is fighting; calls for divine aid in Praise; 
 acknowledges in The Quidditie how little he can 
 effect ; encourages himself in The Elixer by 
 recalling Love's transforming power; in Employ- 
 ment guards against sluggishness ; and in Anti- 
 PHON joins with men and angels in adoration. In 
 this Group of poems we have, therefore, the an- 
 nouncement of a poetical programme. How long 
 it remained near Herbert's heart may be read later 
 in DuLNEssE, The Forerunners, Life, and 
 The Flower; where, feeling death approach, he 
 reviews his campaign against the love-poets and 
 mourns that his beautiful weapons must be laid 
 aside. 
 
 Similar protests against the tendency of poetry 
 to find love in sexual conditions rather than in 
 rational or divine are not uncommon in the 
 Jacobean poetry, and even in the later Eliza- 
 bethan. Spenser himself had uttered them in the 
 Preface to his Hymns in Honour of Heavenly Love 
 and Beauty. So had Herbert's special master, 
 Donne, in his Divine Sonnets and elsewhere. Just 
 after Herbert's death, and partly through his influ- 
 ence, Platonic love became so fashionable as itself 
 to awaken protest. Herbert, then, cannot be called 
 the first to set heavenly love in contrast to earthly. 
 He merely treated the antagonism with peculiar 
 
44 PREFACE 
 
 precision and persistency, gave it the special turn 
 which gained acceptance, and used it as did no 
 other poet to inform the total body of his work. 
 
 It may be interesting to notice how different a 
 conclusion a grave and passionate poet of recent 
 years, Coventry Patmore, has drawn from the 
 same Platonic premises. All Patmore' s poetry, 
 like that of Herbert, is a study of love. Love, too, 
 in his view is not many but one, human loves being 
 partial embodiments of a single divine principle. 
 But while Herbert rejects the human loves as par- 
 tial, Patmore, just because they are small embodi- 
 ments, reverences them as our appointed means of 
 approaching God. If, then, we call the tendency of 
 Herbert Abstract Monotheism, because it sets in 
 sharp and antagonistic contrast infinite and finite 
 love, we might name that of Patmore a kind of 
 Henotheism; since it finds a particular finite object 
 needful if we would apprehend the universally 
 divine. From the extreme and desolating conse- 
 quences of his doctrine Herbert is saved by his 
 rich Elizabethan temperament. 
 
n. THE RESOLVE 45 
 
 TWO SONNETS 
 TO HIS MOTHER 
 
 I [1610] 
 
 My God, where is that antient heat towards thee 
 Wherewith whole shoals of Martyrs once did 
 
 burn, 
 Besides their other flames ? Doth Poetry 
 Wear Venus' livery, only serve her turn ? 4 
 
 Why are not Sonnets made of thee, and layes 
 Upon thine Altar burnt ? Cannot thy love 
 Heighten a spirit to sound out thy praise 
 As well as any she ? Cannot thy Dove 
 Outstrip their Cupid easily in flight ? 9 
 
 Or, since thy ways are deep and still the same, 
 Will not a verse run smooth that bears thy name ? 
 Why doth that fire, which by thy power and might 
 Each breast does feel, no braver fuel choose 
 Than that which one day Worms may chance 
 refuse ? 
 
46 II. THE RESOLVE 
 
 II 
 
 Sure, Lord, there is enough in thee to dry 15 
 Oceans of Ink; for as the Deluge did 
 Cover the Earth, so doth thy Majesty; 
 
 Each cloud distils thy praise, and doth forbid 
 
 Poets to turn it to another use. 
 
 Roses and Lilies speak thee; and to make 20 
 A pair of Cheeks of them, is thy abuse. 
 
 Why should I Women's eyes for Chrystal take ? 
 
 Such poor invention burns in their low mind 
 Whose fire is wild, and doth not upward go 
 To praise, and on thee, Lord, some ink bestow. 
 
 Open the bones, and you shall nothing find 26 
 In the best face but filth ; when Lord, in Thee 
 The beauty lies in the discovery. 
 
n. THE RESOLVE 47 
 
 LOVE 
 
 Immortall Love, authour of this great frame. 
 Sprung from that beautie which can never fade, 
 Hov» hath man parcel'd out thy glorious name 
 
 And thrown it on that dust which thou hast made. 
 
 While mortall love doth all the title gain ! 5 
 
 Which siding with invention, they together 
 Bear all the sway, possessing heart and brain, 
 
 (Thy workmanship) and give thee share in neither. 
 
 Wit fancies beautie, beautie raiseth wit. 
 
 The world is theirs ; they two play out the game. 
 
 Thou standing by. And though thy glorious 
 
 name 11 
 
 Wrought our deliverance from th' infernall pit, 
 Who sings thy praise ? Onely a skarf or glove 
 Doth warm our hands and make them write of 
 love. 
 
48 II. THE RESOLVE 
 
 II 
 
 Immortall Heat, O let thy greater flame 15 
 
 Attract the lesser to it ! Let those fires. 
 Which shall consume the world, first make it 
 tame, 
 And kindle in our hearts such true desires 
 As may consume our lusts and make thee way. 
 Then shall our hearts pant thee ; then shall our 
 brain 20 
 
 All her invention on thine Altar lay. 
 And there in hymnes send back thy fire again. 
 Our eies shall see thee, which before saw dust, 
 Dust blown by wit till that they both were 
 
 blinde. 
 Thou shalt recover all thy goods in kinde, 25 
 Who wert disseized by usurping lust. 
 
 All knees shall bow to thee ; all wit shall rise 
 And praise him who did make and mend our 
 eies. 
 
II. THE RESOLVE 49 
 
 JORDAN 
 
 Who sayes that fictions onely and false hair 
 Become a verse ? Is there in truth no beautie ? 
 
 Is all good structure in a winding stair ? 
 
 May no lines passe except they do their dutie 
 
 Not to a true, but painted chair ? 5 
 
 Is it no verse except enchanted groves 
 
 And sudden arbours shadow course-spunne 
 lines ? 
 
 Must purling streams refresh a lover's loves ? 
 Must all be vail'd, while he that reades divines, 
 
 Catching the sense at two removes ? 10 
 
 Shepherds are honest people; let them sing, 
 Riddle who list for me, and pull for Prime. 
 
 I en vie no man's nightingale or spring; 
 
 Nor let them punish me with losse of ryme, 
 
 Who plainly say, My God, My King, 15 
 
50 II. THE RESOLVE 
 
 JORDAN 
 
 When first my lines of heav'nly joyes made men- 
 tion, 
 Such was their lustre, they did so excell, 
 That I sought out quaint words and trim inven- 
 tion; 
 My thoughts began to burnish, sprout, and swell, 
 Curling with metaphors a plain intention, 5 
 
 Decking the sense as if it were to sell. 
 
 Thousands of notions in my brain did runne, 
 Off'ring their service, if I were not sped. 
 
 I often blotted what I had begunne; 9 
 
 This was not quick enough, and that was dead. 
 
 Nothing could seem too rich to clothe the sunne, 
 Much lesse those joyes which trample on his 
 head. 
 
 As flames do work and winde when they ascend. 
 So did I weave my self into the sense. 
 
 But while I bustled, I might heare a friend 15 
 Whisper, How wide is all this long pretence I 
 
 There is in love a sweetnesse readie penn'd; 
 Copie out onely that, and save expense. 
 
II. THE RESOLVE 51 
 
 PRAISE 
 
 To write a verse or two is all the praise 
 That I can raise. 
 Mend my estate in any wayes, 
 Thou shalt have more. 
 
 I go to Church; help me to wings, and I 5 
 
 Will thither flie. 
 Or, if I mount unto the skie, 
 I will do more. 
 
 Man is all weaknesse; there is no such thing 
 
 As Prince or King. 10 
 
 His arm is short, yet with a sling 
 He may do more. 
 
 An herb destill'd, and drunk, may dwell next doore 
 On the same floore 
 To a brave soul. Exalt the poore, 15 
 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. 20 
 
52 II. THE RESOLVE 
 
 THE QUIDDITIE 
 
 My God, a verse is not a crown, 
 No point of honour, or gay suit, 
 
 No hawk, or banquet, or renown, 
 Nor a good sword, nor yet a lute: 
 
 It cannot vault, or dance, or play; 5 
 
 It never was in France or Spain; 
 
 Nor can it entertain the day 
 With a great stable or demain. 
 
 It is no office, art, or news. 
 
 Nor the Exchange, or busie Hall. 10 
 But it is that which while I use 
 
 I am with thee; and Mosty take all. 
 
II. THE RESOLVE 53 
 
 THE ELIXER 
 
 Teach me, my God and King, 
 In all things thee to see; 
 And what I do in any thing. 
 To do it as for thee. 
 
 Not rudely, as a beast, 5 
 
 To runne into an action; 
 But still to make thee prepossest, 
 And give it his perfection. 
 
 A man that looks on glasse 
 
 On it may stay his eye, 10 
 
 Or if he pleaseth, through it passe, 
 And then the heav'n espie. 
 
54 II. THE RESOLVE 
 
 All may of thee partake; 
 Nothing can be so mean 
 Which with his tincture (for thy sake) 15 
 Will not grow bright and clean. 
 
 A servant with this clause 
 Makes drudgerie divine; 
 Who sweeps a room, as for thy laws. 
 
 Makes that and th' action fine. 20 
 
 This is the famous stone 
 That turneth all to gold; 
 For that which God doth touch and own 
 Cannot for lesse be told. 
 
II. THE RESOLVE 55 
 
 EMPLOYMENT 
 
 He that is weary, let him sit! 
 
 My soul would stirre 
 And trade in courtesies and wit, 
 
 Quitting the furre 
 To cold complexions needing it. 5 
 
 Man is no starre, but a quick coal 
 
 Of mortall fire; 
 Who blows it not, nor doth controll 
 
 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 
 
56 II. THE RESOLVE 
 
 Life is a businesse, not good cheer, 
 
 Ever in warres. 
 The sunne still shineth there or here, 
 
 Whereas the starres 
 Watch an advantage to appeare. 20 
 
 Oh that I were an Orenge-tree, 
 That busie plant! 
 
 Then should I ever laden be. 
 
 And never want 
 
 Some fruit for him that dressed me. 25 
 
 But we are still too young or old; 
 
 The man is gone 
 Before we do our wares unfold. 
 
 So we freeze on, 
 Untill the grave increase our cold. 30 
 
II. THE RESOLVE 57 
 
 ANTIPHON 
 
 Chor. Praised be the God of love, 
 
 Men. Here below, 
 
 Angels. And here above. 
 Cho. Who hath dealt his mercies so, 
 
 Ang. To his friend, 5 
 
 Men. And to his foe, 
 
 Cho. That both grace and glorie tend 
 Ang. Us of old, 
 Men. And us in th' end. 
 
 Cho. The great shepherd of the fold 10 
 
 Ang. Us did make. 
 Men. For us was sold. 
 
 Cho. He our foes in pieces brake. 
 
 A7ig. Him we touch, 
 
 Men. And him we take. 15 
 
 Cho. Wherefore since that he is such, 
 
 Ang. We adore. 
 
 Men. And we do crouch. 
 
 Cho. Lord, thy praises should be more. 
 
 Men. We have none, 20 
 
 Ang. And we no store. 
 
 Cho. Praised be the God alone. 
 
 Who hath made of two folds one. 
 
Ill 
 
 THE CHURCH 
 
PREFACE 
 
 IN religion Herbert, with most of the devout men 
 of his time, AngHcans no less than Puritans, 
 is, as I have elsewhere argued, an individualist. 
 The relations between God and his own soul are 
 what interest him. Like Bunyan's Pilgrim, he 
 undertakes a solitary journey to the heavenly city, 
 and concerns himself little about his fellow men, 
 except to cry aloud that they too are in danger. 
 Any notion of dedicating himself to their welfare is 
 foreign to him. Perhaps his poem The Windows 
 comes nearest to expressing something like human 
 responsibihty. But such moods are rare. Usually 
 his responsibility is to God alone; and this, pas- 
 sionately uttered in Aaron and The Priesthood, 
 is the farthest point to which his self-centred piety 
 carries his verse. The mystic forgets himself in 
 the thought of God ; the philanthropist, in the 
 thought of human needs. To Herbert — at least 
 to the poet Herbert — the personal relationship of 
 the soul to God is the one matter of consequence. 
 In this relationship he finds the foundation of 
 the Church. As the home organizes and gives 
 opportunity of expression to the love of single 
 persons for one another, so does the Church to the 
 love of single persons and God. Herbert never 
 
62 PREFACE TO 
 
 thinks of the Church in our modern fashion as 
 the manifestation of God to collective humanity, 
 progressively enlarging human powers and expand- 
 ing human ideals. Nor does he conceive it as an 
 august divine institution, venerable in itself, and 
 rightly subordinating individuals to its own high 
 ends. It is easy to mistake Herbert for an ecclesi- 
 astic, and to say, as has sometimes been said, that 
 he cannot be understood by one who is not Episco- 
 pally born. But such an error is due to careless 
 reading. He is, indeed, devoted to the Church. 
 He talks of nothing else. But in his poem Sion, 
 as constantly though less explicitly elsewhere, he 
 explains that the Church, God's Temple, is the 
 human heart, and that all its frame and fabrick is 
 within. His book he thus very naturally entitled 
 The Church or Temple, and told Ferrar that it 
 was a picture of the many Conflicts that have past 
 betwixt God and my Soul before I could subject 
 mine to the will of Jesus my Master. 
 
 It is not strange, then, that one who has made 
 the resolve which is set forth in the preceding 
 Group of poems should become a singer of the 
 Church and its ordinances as thus conceived. For 
 these celebrate the going forth of a loving God to 
 seek a wayward sinner. They show that sinner 
 ill at ease so long as he is parted from his exalted 
 friend, and they indicate the means through which 
 a heavenly union may be accomplished. But one 
 who takes love for his theme will find that there 
 
THE CHURCH 63 
 
 are three ways of exploring it. He may directly 
 inspect the yearning moods of the soul, viewing 
 them as psychological facts of experience ; or he 
 may consider more abstractly the general relations 
 involved in love, and treat these as theoretic sub- 
 jects of contemplation ; or lastly, he may catalogue 
 the regularities of love, its habitual modes of ex- 
 pression, the fixed avenues through which the loved 
 one becomes accessible. And all these ways are as 
 open to the student of sacred love as to him who 
 would study the profane. 
 
 Herbert adopts them all, sometimes in the same 
 poem. I believe, however, I can make liis work 
 more intelligible if I roughly classify and divide 
 according to this scheme. Those of his Cambridge 
 poems which predominantly deal with his great 
 theme in the direct way I accordingly entitle The 
 Inner Life. Those which treat it as a subject for 
 philosophic analysis I call Meditation. And to 
 those which mark out its ordered paths I give 
 the special name of The Church. It is true that 
 in doing so I unwarrantably narrow Herbert's 
 comprehensive word. Besides my Group, he covers 
 with that holy name every stirring of the aspiring 
 soul and every serious reflection on the life of love. 
 It is the all-including title of his poems. But I see 
 no harm in applying it, par excellence and after 
 this explanation, to the institutional features of 
 love. Only we must be careful to remember that 
 these, no less than the poignant cries of separation 
 
64 PREFACE TO 
 
 and suffering, derive their meanings from the indi- 
 vidual experience of love. 
 
 There are advantages in placing this Group 
 first, and in bringing the Group on The Inner Life 
 into close connection with The Crisis. From their 
 style, too, I suspect that most of these churchly 
 poems are of earlier date than the majority of 
 those which follow. That is certainly the case 
 with the longest and most important, The Sacri^ 
 fice; an archaic piece which, with all its compact 
 power, is likely to prove somewhat repulsive to a 
 modern taste. In it the suffering of Him who loves 
 us is anatomized in elaborate, and perhaps too 
 calculated, detail. Probably a reader will approach 
 it most understandingly by comparing it with early 
 Flemish and German paintings, or with Albert 
 Diirer's woodcuts. Durer's Passion and his Life 
 of the Virgin were widely circulated in the century 
 before Herbert. One fancies Herbert turning them 
 over and designing his Altar-piece in their spirit. 
 In it and them there is elaborate realism in setting 
 forth an ideal scene, an exaggeration of physical 
 pain, a forced ingenuity in distressful incident, and 
 a failure to subordinate detail; while at the same 
 time there is distributed everywhere a strange 
 vividness, rich human sympathies, and the im- 
 pression — conveyed, we hardly know how — that 
 through all the crowded and homely circumstance 
 the solemnest of world-events is occurring. In 
 treating so sacred a subject Herbert allows himself 
 
THE CHURCH 65 
 
 the smallest possible departure from the words of 
 Scripture. 
 
 Following The Sacrifice, I set a series of festi- 
 val songs, in which analogies of the soul's experi- 
 ence are found in historic events. With these falls 
 the festival of Sunday, a day more frequent, 
 pompous, and full of human significance than all 
 other holy days. After it are grouped special modes 
 of divine communication, — through Prayer, 
 Scripture, Baptisme, Communion, Musick. 
 The group concludes with the solemn monitions 
 of stately burial monuments, inciting the beholder 
 to high aspiration and disentanglement from the 
 body. 
 
66 m. THE CHURCH 
 
 SUPERLIMINARE 
 
 Thou, whom the former precepts have 
 Sprinkled and taught how to behave 
 Thy self in church, approach, and taste 
 The churches mysticall repast. 
 
 Avoid, prof anenesse ! Come not here! 
 Nothing but holy, pure, and cleare, 
 Or that which groneth to be so, 
 May at his perill further go. 
 
m. THE CHURCH 67 
 
 THE ALTAR 
 
 A BROKEN Altar, Lord, thy servant reares, 
 Made of a heart and cemented with teares; 
 Whose parts are as thy hand did frame; 
 No workman's tool hath touch'd the same. 
 A Heart alone 5 
 
 Is such a , stone 
 As nothing but 
 Thy pow'r doth cut. 
 Wherefore each part 
 Of my hard heart 10 
 
 Meets in this frame 
 To praise thy name; 
 That if I chance to hold my peace, 
 These stones to praise thee may not cease. 
 O let thy blessed Sacrifice be mine, 
 And sanctifie this A l t a r to be thine. 
 
68 III. THE CHURCH 
 
 THE SACRIFICE 
 
 Oh all ye who passe by, whose eyes and minde 
 To worldly things are sharp, but to me blinde, 
 To me who took eyes that I might you finde. 
 Was ever grief like mine ? 
 
 The Princes of my people make a head 5 
 
 Against their Maker; they do wish me dead, 
 Who cannot wish except I give them bread. 
 
 Was ever grief like mine ? 
 
 Without me each one who doth now me brave 
 Had to this day been an Egyptian slave. 10 
 They use that power against me which I gave. 
 Was ever grief like mine ? 
 
 Mine own Apostle, who the bag did beare, 
 Though he had all I had, did not forbeare 
 To sell me also and to put me there. 15 
 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
III. THE CHURCH 69 
 
 For thirtie pence he did my death devise 
 Wlio at three hundred did the ointment prize, 
 Not half so sweet as my sweet sacrifice. 
 
 Was ever grief hke mine ? 
 
 Therefore my soul melts, and my heart's deare 
 treasure 21 
 
 Drops bloud (the onely beads) my words to mea- 
 sure: 
 
 O let this cup passe, if it he thy pleasure. 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 These drops, being temper'd with a sinner's tears, 
 A Balsome are for both the Hemispheres; 26 
 
 Curing all wounds but mine, all but my fears. 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 Yet my Disciples sleep. I cannot gain 
 One houre of watching; but their drowsie brain 
 Comforts not me, and doth my doctrine stain. 31 
 Was ever grief, &;c. 
 
 Arise, arise ! They come. Look, how they runne I 
 Alas! What haste they make to be undone! 
 How with their lanterns do they seek the sunne! 
 Was ever grief, &c. 36 
 
70 III. THE CHURCH 
 
 With clubs and staves they seek me as a thief 
 Who am the way of truth, the true rehef. 
 Most true to those who are my greatest grief. 
 Was ever grief hke mine ? 
 
 Judas, dost thou betray me with a kisse ? 41 
 
 Canst thou finde hell about my lips ? And misse 
 Of life just at the gates of life and blisse ? 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 See, they lay hold on me not with the hands 45 
 Of faith, but furie. Yet at their commands 
 I suffer binding, who have loos'd their bands. 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 All my Disciples flie; fear puts a barre 49 
 
 Betwixt my friends and me. They leave the starre 
 That brought the wise men of the East from farre. 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 Then from one ruler to another bound 
 They leade me, urging that it was not sound 
 What I taught. Comments would the text con- 
 found. 55 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
III. THE CHURCH 71 
 
 The Priest and rulers all false witnesse seek 
 'Gainst him who seeks not life, but is the meek 
 And readie Paschal Lambe of this great week. 
 Was ever grief like mine ^ 
 
 Then they accuse me of great blasphemie, 61 
 That I did thrust into the Deitie, 
 Who never thought that any robberie. 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 Some said that I the Temple to the floore 65 
 
 In three dayes raz'd, and raised as before. 
 Why, he that built the world can do much more. 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 Then they condemne me all with that same breath 
 Which I do give them daily, unto death. 70 
 
 Thus Adam my first breathing rendereth. 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 They binde, and leade me unto Herod. He 
 Sends me to Pilate. This makes them agree; 
 But yet their friendship is my enmitie. 75 
 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
72 III. THE CHURCH 
 
 Herod and all his bands do set me light 
 Who teach all hands to warre, fingers to fight, 
 And onely am the Lord of hosts and might. 
 
 Was ever grief like mine ? 
 
 Herod in judgement sits, while I do stand; 81 
 Examines me with a censorious hand. 
 I him obey, who all things else command. 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 The Jews accuse me with despitefulnesse, 85 
 And vying malice with my gentlenesse. 
 Pick quarrels with their onely happinesse. 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 I answer nothing, but with patience prove 
 If stonie hearts will melt with gentle love. 90 
 But who does hawk at eagles with a dove ? 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 My silence rather doth augment their crie; 
 My dove doth back into my bosome flie. 
 Because the raging waters still are high. 95 
 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
III. THE CHURCH 73 
 
 Heark how they crie aloud still, Crucifie I 
 It is not fit he live a day, they crie. 
 Who cannot live lesse then eternally. 99 
 
 Was ever grief like mine ? 
 
 Pilate, a stranger, holdeth off; but they, 
 Mine owne deare people, cry. Away, away! 
 With noises confused frighting the day. 
 
 Was ever grief, &c. 104 
 
 Yet still they shout and crie and stop their eares. 
 Putting my life among their sinnes and fears. 
 And therefore with my hloud on them and theirs. 
 Was ever grief, &c. 108 
 
 See how spite cankers things. These words, aright 
 Used and wished, are the whole world's light; 
 But hony is their gall, brightnesse their night. 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 They choose a murderer, and all agree 
 In him to do themselves a courtesie; 
 For it was their own cause who killed me. 115 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
74 III. THE CHURCH 
 
 And a seditious murderer he was, 
 But I the Prince of peace; peace that doth passe 
 All understanding, more then heav'n doth glasse. 
 Was ever grief like mine ? 
 
 Why, Cesar is their onely King, not I. 121 
 
 He clave the stonie rock when they were drie; 
 But surely not their hearts, as I well trie. 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 Ah, How they scourge me! Yet my tendernesse 
 Doubles each lash, and yet their bitternesse 126 
 Windes up my grief to a mysteriousnesse. 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 They buffet me and box me as they list, 129 
 
 Who grasp the earth and heaven with my fist, 
 And never yet, whom I would punish, miss'd. 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 Behold, they spit on me in scornfull wise 
 Who by my spittle gave the bHnde man eies. 
 Leaving his blindnesse to mine enemies. 135 
 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
III. THE CHURCH 75 
 
 My face they cover, though it be divine. 
 As Closes' face was vailed, so is mine, 138 
 
 Lest on their double-dark souls either shine. 
 Was ever grief like mine ? 
 
 Servants and abjects flout me; they are wittie: 
 Now prophesie who strikes thee, is their dittie. 
 So they in me denie themselves all pitie. 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 And now I am deliver'd unto death, 145 
 
 W^hich each one cals for so with utmost breath 
 That he before me well nigh suffereth. 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 Weep not, deare friends, since I for both have wept 
 When all my tears were bloud, the while you slept. 
 Your tears for your own fortunes should be kept. 
 Was ever grief, &c. 152 
 
 The souldiers lead me to the common hall; 
 There they deride me, they abuse me all. 
 Yet for twelve heav'nly legions I could call. 155 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
76 III. THE CHURCH 
 
 Then with a scarlet robe they me aray; 
 Which shews my bloud to be the onely way 
 And cordiall left to repair man's decay. 159 
 
 Was ever grief like mine ? 
 
 Then on my head a crown of thorns I wear; 
 For these are all the grapes Sion doth bear, 
 Though I my vine planted and watred there. 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 So sits the earth's great curse in Adam's fall 165 
 Upon my head. So I remove it all 
 From th' earth unto my brows, and bear the 
 thrall. 
 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 Then with the reed they gave to me before 
 They strike my head, the rock from whence all 
 
 store 170 
 
 Of heav'nly blessings issue evermore. 
 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 They bow their knees to me and cry, Hail king ! 
 Wliat ever scoffes or scornfulnesse can bring, 
 I am the floore, the sink, where they it fling. 175 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
III. THE CHURCH 77 
 
 Yet since man's scepters are as frail as reeds, 
 And thorny all their crowns, bloudie their weeds, 
 I, who am Truth, turn into truth their deeds. 
 Was ever grief like mine ? 
 
 The souldiers also spit upon that face 181 
 
 Which Angels did desire to have the grace, 
 And Prophets, once to see, but found no place. 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 Thus trimmed, forth they bring me to the rout, 185 
 AVho Crucifle him! crie with one strong shout. 
 God holds his peace at man, and man cries out. 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 They leade me in once more, and putting then 
 Mine own clothes on, they leade me out agen. 190 
 Whom devils flie, thus is he toss'd of men. 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 And now wearle of sport, glad to ingrosse 
 All spite in one, counting my life their losse. 
 They carrie me to my most bitter crosse. 195 
 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
78 III. THE CHURCH 
 
 My crosse I bear my self untill I faint. 
 Then Simon bears it for me by constraint, 
 The decreed burden of each mortall Saint. 199 
 Was ever grief Hke mine ? 
 
 O all ye who passe by, behold and see I 
 
 Man stole the fruit, but I must climbe the tree; 
 
 The tree of life to all but onely me. 
 
 Was ever grief, &c. 204 
 
 Lo, here I hang, charg'd with a world of sinne. 
 The greater world o' th' two; for that came in 
 By words, but this by sorrow I must win. 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 Such sorrow as, if sinfuU man could feel 209 
 
 Or feel his part, he would not cease to kneel 
 Till all were melted, though he were all steel. 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 But, O my God, my God I why leav'st thou me. 
 The Sonne, in whom thou dost delight to be ? 
 
 My God, my God 215 
 
 Never was grief like mine. 
 
III. THE CHURCH 79 
 
 Shame tears my soul, my bodie many a wound; 
 Sharp nails pierce this, but sharper that confound; 
 Reproches, which are free, while I am bound. 
 Was ever grief like mine ? 
 
 Now heal thy self. Physician, now come down I 
 Alas! I did so, when I left my crown 222 
 
 And father's smile for you, to feel his frown. 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 In healing not my self, there doth consist 225 
 All that salvation which ye now resist; 
 Your safetie in my sicknesse doth subsist. 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 Betwixt two theeves I spend my utmost breath. 
 As he that for some robberie suffereth. 230 
 
 Alas ! what have I stoUen from you ? Death. 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 A king my title is, prefixt on high; 
 Yet by my subjects am condemn'd to die 
 A servile death in servile companie. 235 
 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
80 III. THE CHURCH 
 
 They gave me vineger mingled with gall, 
 But more with malice. Yet when they did call. 
 With Manna, Angels' food, I fed them all. 239 
 Was ever grief like mine ? 
 
 They part my garments and by lot dispose 
 My coat, the type of love, which once cur'd those 
 Who sought for help, never malicious foes. 
 Was ever grief, &c. 
 
 Nay, after death their spite shall further go; 245 
 For they will pierce my side, I full well know, 
 That as sinne came, so Sacraments might flow. 
 W^as ever grief, &c. 
 
 But now I die, now all is finished; 
 My wo, man's weal. And now I bow my head. 
 Onely let others say, when I am dead, 251 
 
 Never was grief like mine. 
 
III. THE CHURCH 81 
 
 GOOD FRIDAY 
 
 O MY chief good, 
 How shall I measure out thy bloud ? 
 How shall I count what thee befell, 
 
 And each grief tell ? 
 
 Shall I thy woes 5 
 
 Number according to thy foes ? 
 Or, since one starre show'd thy first breath, 
 
 Shall all thy death ? 
 
 Or shall each leaf 
 Which falls in Autumne score a grief? 10 
 Or cannot leaves, but fruit, be signe 
 
 Of the true vine ? 
 
 Then let each houre 
 Of my whole life one grief devoure; 
 That thy distresse through all may runne, 
 
 And be my sunne. 16 
 
 Or rather let 
 My severall sinnes their sorrows get; 
 That as each beast his cure doth know. 
 
 Each sinne may so. 20 
 
82 III. THE CHURCH 
 
 Since bloud is fittest, Lord, to write 
 Thy sorrows in and bloudie fight; 
 My heart hath store, write there, where in 
 One box doth he both ink and sinne. 
 
 That when sinne spies so many foes, 25 
 
 Thy whips, thy nails, thy wounds, thy woes. 
 All come to lodge there, sinne may say, 
 No room for me, and flie away. 
 
 Sinne being gone, oh fill the place 
 
 And keep possession with thy grace! 30 
 
 Lest sinne take courage and return, 
 
 And all the writings blot or burn. 
 
III. THE CHURCH 83 
 
 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, 5 
 
 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; 10 
 
 His streched 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 15 
 And multiplied, 
 
 O let thy blessed Spirit bear a part. 
 
 And make up our defects with his sweet art. 
 
84 III. THE CHURCH 
 
 I got me flowers to straw thy way, 
 
 I got me boughs off many a tree, 20 
 
 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 hght, and th' East perfume. 
 If they should offer to contest 25 
 
 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. 30 
 
m. THE CHURCH 85 
 
 WHITSUNDAY 
 
 Listen, sweet Dove, unto my song 
 And spread thy golden wings in me; 
 Hatching my tender heart so long 
 Till it get wing and flie away with thee. 
 
 Where is that fire which once descended 5 
 On thy Apostles ? Thou didst then 
 Keep open house, richly attended. 
 Feasting all comers by twelve chosen men. 
 
 Such glorious gifts thou didst bestow 
 That th' earth did like a heav'n appeare; 10 
 The starres were coming down to know 
 If they might mend their wages and serve here. 
 
86 III. THE CHURCH 
 
 The sunne, which once did shine alone, 
 Hung down his head and wisht for night 
 When he beheld twelve sunnes for one 15 
 Going about the world and giving light. 
 
 But since those pipes of gold, which brought 
 That cordiall water to our ground. 
 Were cut and martyred by the fault 
 Of those who did themselves through their side 
 wound, 20 
 
 Thou shutt'st the doore and keep'st within, 
 Scarce a good joy creeps through the chink; 
 And if the braves of conqu'ring sinne 
 Did not excite thee, we should wholly sink. 
 
 Lord, though we change, thou art the same; 
 The same sweet God of love and light. 26 
 
 Restore this day, for thy great name, 
 Unto his ancient and miraculous right. 
 
III. THE CHURCH 87 
 
 TRINITIE-SUNDAY 
 
 Lord, who hast form'd me out of mud, 
 And hast redeem'd me through thy bloud. 
 And sanctifi'd me to do good. 
 
 Purge all my sinnes done heretofore; 
 For I confesse my heavie score, 
 And I will strive to sinne no more. 
 
 Enrich my heart, mouth, hands in me. 
 With faith, with hope, with charitie. 
 That I may runne, rise, rest with thee. 
 
88 III. THE CHURCH 
 
 TO ALL ANGELS AND SAINTS 
 
 Oh 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 en vie or maliciousnesse 
 
 Do I forbear to crave your speciall aid. 
 
 I would addresse 
 My vows to thee most gladly, blessed Maid, 
 
 And Mother of my God, in my distresse. 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 Jewell lay; 
 Chiefly to thee would I my soul unfold. 15 
 
III. THE CHURCH 
 
 But now (alas!) I dare not, for our King, 
 Whom we do all joyntly adore and praise, 
 
 Bids no such thing; 
 And where his pleasure no injunction layes, 
 
 ('Tis your own case) ye never move a wing. 20 
 
 All worship is prerogative, and a flower 
 
 Of his rich crown from whom lyes no appeal 
 
 At the last houre. 
 Therefore we dare not from his garland steal 
 
 To make a posie for inferiour 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 
 
90 III. THE CHURCH 
 
 CHRISTMAS 
 
 All after pleasures as I rid one day, 
 
 My horse and I both tir'd, bodie and minde, 
 With full crie of affections quite astray, 
 
 I took up in the next inne I could finde. 
 There when I came, whom found I but my deare. 
 
 My dearest Lord, expecting till the grief 6 
 
 Of pleasures brought me to him, readie there 
 
 To be all passengers' most sweet relief ? 
 O Thou, whose glorious yet contracted light. 
 
 Wrapt in night's mantle, stole into a manger. 
 Since my dark soul and brutish is thy right, 11 
 
 To Man of all beasts be not thou a stranger. 
 Furnish and deck my soul, that thou mayst 
 
 have 
 A better lodging then a rack, or grave. 
 
III. THE CHURCH 91 
 
 The shepherds sing, and shall I silent be ? 15 
 
 My God, no hymne 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 houres. 
 Then we will cliide the sunne for letting night 
 
 Take up his place and right. 
 We sing one common Lord; wherefore he should 
 
 Himself the candle hold. 26 
 
 I will go searching, till I finde a sunne 
 
 Shall stay till we have done, 
 A willing shiner, that shall shine as gladly 
 
 As frost-nipt sunnes 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 musick shine. 
 
92 III. THE CHURCH 
 
 LENT 
 
 Welcome, deare feast of Lent! Who loves not 
 
 thee. 
 He loves not Temperance or Authoritie, 
 
 But is compos'd of passion. 
 The Scriptures bid us fast; the Church sayes, now; 
 Give to thy Mother what thou wouldst allow 5 
 
 To ev'ry Corporation. 
 
 The humble soul, compos'd of love and fear. 
 Begins at home and layes the burden there, 
 
 When doctrines disagree. 
 He sayes, in things which use hath justly got, 10 
 I am a scandall to the Church, and not 
 
 The Church is so to me. 
 
 True Christians should be glad of an occasion 
 To use their temperance, seeking no evasion 
 
 When good is seasonable; 15 
 
 Unlesse Authoritie, which should increase 
 The obligation in us, make it lesse, 
 
 And Power it self disable. 
 
 Besides the cleannesse of sweet abstinence, 
 Quick thoughts and motions at a small expense, 
 
 A face not fearing light; 21 
 
 Whereas in fulnesse there are sluttish fumes, 
 Sowre exhalations, and dishonest rheumes. 
 
 Revenging the delight. 
 
III. THE CHURCH 93 
 
 Then those same pendant profits, which the spring 
 And Easter intimate, enlarge the thing 26 
 
 And goodnesse of the deed. 
 Neither ought other men's abuse of Lent 
 Spoil the good use, lest by that argument 
 
 We forfeit all our Creed. 30 
 
 It's true we cannot reach Christ's forti'th day; 
 Yet to go part of that religious way 
 
 Is better then to rest. 
 We cannot reach our Saviour's puritie; 
 Yet are we bid, Be holy evn as he. 35 
 
 In both let's do our best. 
 
 Who goeth in the way which Christ hath gone, 
 Is much more sure to meet with him then one 
 
 That travelleth by-wayes. 
 Perhaps my God, though he be farre before, 40 
 May turn and take me by the hand, and more 
 
 May strengthen my decay es. 
 
 Yet Lord instruct us to improve our fast 
 By starving sinne, and taking such repast 
 
 As may our faults controll; 45 
 That ev'ry man may revell at his doore. 
 Not in his parlour; banquetting the poore. 
 
 And among those his soul. 
 
94 III. THE CHURCH 
 
 SUNDAY 
 
 O DAY most calm, most bright, 
 The fruit of this, the next world's bud, 
 Th' indorsement of supreme delight. 
 Writ by a friend, and with his bloud; 
 
 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 dayes and thou 
 Make up one man, whose face thou art. 
 
 Knocking at heaven with thy brow. 10 
 
 The worky-daies are the back-part; 
 
 The burden of the week lies there. 
 Making the whole to stoup and bow 
 Till thy release appeare. 
 
 Man had straight forward gone 15 
 To endlesse 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. 
 
III. THE CHURCH 95 
 
 Sundaies the pillars are 
 On which heav'ns palace arched lies; 
 
 The other dayes fill up the spare 
 And hollow room with vanities. 25 
 
 They are the fruitfull beds and borders 
 In God's rich garden: that is bare 
 
 Which parts their ranks and orders. 
 
 The Sundaies of man's life, 
 Thredded together on time's string, 30 
 
 Make bracelets to adorn the wife 
 Of the eternall glorious King. 
 
 On Sunday heaven's gate stands ope. 
 Blessings are plentifull and rife. 
 
 More plentifull then 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 misse. 
 
 Christ hath took in this piece of ground, 40 
 And made a garden there for those 
 
 Who want herbs for their wound. 
 
96 III, THE CHURCH 
 
 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 tlie doores away, 
 Christ's hands, though nail'd, wrought our salva- 
 tion 
 
 And did unhinge that day. 
 
 The brightnesse of that day 50 
 
 We sullied by our foul offence; 
 
 Wherefore that robe we cast away. 
 Having a new at his expence 
 
 Whose drops of bloud 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-dayes 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, 
 Flie hand in hand to heav'n! 
 
III. THE CHURCH 97 
 
 PRAYER 
 
 Prayer the Churches banquet, Angel's age, 
 God's breath in man returning to his birth, 
 The soul in paraphrase, heart in pilgrimage. 
 
 The Christian plummet sounding heav'n and earth; 
 
 Engine against th' Almightie, sinner's 4:owre, 5 
 Reversed thunder, Christ-side-piercing spear, 
 
 The six-daies -world transposing in an houre, 
 A kinde of tune which all things heare and fear; 
 
 Softnesse and peace and joy and love and bhsse, 
 Exalted Manna, gladnesse of the best, 10 
 
 Heaven in ordinarie, man well drest. 
 
 The milkie way, the bird of Paradise, 
 
 Church-bels beyond the starres heard, the soul's 
 
 bloud. 
 The land of spices; something understood. 
 
98 III. THE CHURCH 
 
 PRAYER 
 
 Of what an easie quick accesse, 
 My blessed Lord, art thou! How suddenly 
 
 May our requests thine eare invade! 
 To shew that state dislikes not easinesse, 
 If I but lift mine eyes my suit is made; 5 
 
 Thou canst no more not heare then thou canst die. 
 
 Of what supreme almightie power 
 Is thy great arm, which spans the east and west 
 
 And tacks the centre to the sphere! 
 By it do all things live their measur'd houre, 10 
 We cannot ask the thing which is not there. 
 Blaming the shallownesse of our request. 
 
 Of what unmeasureable love 
 Art thou possest who, when thou couldst not die, 
 
 Wert fain to take our flesh and curse 15 
 
 And for our sakes in person sinne reprove. 
 That by destroying that which ty'd thy purse, 
 Thou mightst make way for liberalitie! 
 
 Since then these three wait on thy throne, 
 Ease, Power, and Love; I value prayer so 20 
 
 That were I to leave all but one. 
 Wealth, fame, endowments, vertues, all should go; 
 I and deare prayer would together dwell. 
 And quickly gain, for each inch lost, an ell. 
 
III. THE CHURCH 
 
 THE H. SCRIPTURES 
 
 I 
 
 Oh Book! Infinite sweetnesse! Let my heart 
 
 Suck ev'ry letter and a hony gain, 
 
 Precious for any grief in any part. 
 To cleare the breast, to moUifie all pain. 
 Thou art all health, health thriving till it make 
 
 A full eternitie. Thou art a masse 6 
 
 Of strange dehghts, where we may wish and 
 take. 
 Ladies, look here! This is the thankfull glasse 
 That mends the looker's eyes; this is the well 
 
 That washes what it shows. Who can indeare 
 
 Thy praise too much ? Thou art heav'n's Lidger 
 here, 1 1 
 
 Working against the states of death and hell. 
 
 Thou art joyes handsell. Heav'n Hes flat in 
 thee, 
 
 Subject to ev'ry mounter's bended knee. 
 
100 III. THE CHURCH 
 
 II 
 
 Oh tliat I knew how all thy lights combine, 
 And the configurations of their glorie! 
 Seeing not onely how each verse doth shine, 
 
 But all the constellations of the storie. 
 
 This verse marks that, and both do make a motion 
 Unto a third, that ten leaves off doth lie; 6 
 Then as dispersed herbs do watch a potion, 
 
 These three make up some Christian's destinie. 
 
 Such are thy secrets, which my life makes good. 
 And comments on thee; for in ev'ry thing 
 Thy words do finde me out, and parallels bring, 
 
 And in another make me understood. 12 
 
 Starres are poore books, and oftentimes do misse; 
 This book of starres lights to eternall blisse. 
 
in. THE CHURCH 101 
 
 H. 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 flie 
 Which is above the heav'ns, whose spring and 
 rent 5 
 
 Is in my deare 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, 12 
 What ever future sinnes should me miscall, 
 Your first acquaintance might discredit all. 
 
102 III. THE CHURCH 
 
 H. BAPTISMS 
 
 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. 5 
 
 O let me still 
 Write thee great God, and me a childe. 
 Let me be soft and supple to thy will, 
 
 Small to my self, to others milde, 
 
 Behither ill. 10 
 
 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. 15 
 
III. THE CHURCH 103 
 
 THE H. COMMUNION 
 
 Not in rich furniture or fine aray, 
 Nor in a wedge of gold, 
 Thou, who from me wast sold, 
 To me dost now thy self convey; 
 
 For so thou should'st without me still have been, 5 
 Leaving within me sinne. 
 
 But by the way of nourishment and strength 
 Thou creep'st into my breast. 
 Making thy way my rest. 
 And thy small quantities my length; 10 
 
 Which spread their forces into every part. 
 Meeting sinne' s force and art. 
 
 Yet can these not get over to my soul, 
 
 Leaping the wall that parts 
 
 Our souls and fleshly hearts; 15 
 
 But as th' outworks, they may controll 
 My rebel-flesh, and carrying thy name. 
 
 Affright both sinne and shame. 
 
 Onely thy grace, which with these elements comes, 
 Knoweth the ready way 20 
 
 And hath the privie key, 
 Op'ning the soul's most subtile rooms; 
 
 While those to spirits refin'd at doore attend 
 Dispatches from their friend. 
 
104 III. THE CHURCH 
 
 Give me my captive soul, or take 25 
 
 My bodie also thither. 
 Another lift like this will make 
 
 Them both to be together. 
 
 Before that sinne turn'd flesh to stone. 
 
 And all our lump to leaven, 30 
 
 A fervent sigh might well have blown 
 Our innocent earth to heaven. 
 
 For sure when Adam did not know 
 To sinne, or sinne to smother, 
 
 He might to heav'n from Paradise go 35 
 
 As from one room t' another. 
 
 Thou hast restor'd us to this ease 
 
 By this thy heav'nly bloud; 
 Which I can go to when I please. 
 
 And leave th' earth to their food. 40 
 
III. THE CHURCH 105 
 
 CHURCH-MUSICK 
 
 Sweetest of sweets, I thank you ! When displea- 
 sure 
 Did through my bodie wound my minde, 
 You took me thence, and in your house of plea- 
 sure 
 A daintie lodging me assign'd. 
 
 Now I in you without a bodie move, 5 
 
 Rising and falling with your wings. 
 
 We both together sweetly live and love. 
 
 Yet say sometimes, God help poore Kings. 
 
 Comfort, I'le die; for if you poste from me, 
 
 Sure I shall do so, and much more. 10 
 
 But if I travell in your companie. 
 
 You know the way to heaven's doore. 
 
106 III. THE CHURCH 
 
 CHURCH-MONUMENTS 
 
 While that my soul repairs to her devotion, 
 Here I intombe 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, 5 
 
 Drives all at last. Therefore I gladly trust 
 
 My bodie to this school, that it may learn 
 To spell his elements, and finde his birth 
 Written in dustie heraldrie and lines 
 Which dissolution sure doth best discern, 10 
 
 Comparing dust with dust, and earth with 
 earth. 
 These laugh at leat and Marble put for signes 
 
III. THE CHURCH 107 
 
 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 15 
 
 To kisse those heaps which now they have in 
 trust ? 
 Deare flesh, while I do pray, learne here thy 
 stemme 
 And true descent; that when thou shalt grow 
 fat 
 
 And wanton in thy cravings, thou mayst know 
 
 That flesh is but the glasse which holds the dust 
 
 That measures all our time; which also shall 
 
 Be crumbled into dust. Mark here below 22 
 
 How tame these ashes are, how free from lust, 
 
 That thou mayst fit thyself against thy fall. 
 
IV 
 
 MEDITATION 
 
PREFACE 
 
 HERE are grouped the most serious studies of 
 Herbert's Cambridge days, studies of the 
 natures of God and man, and of the possible rela- 
 tions between the two. A similar set, though longer 
 and of profounder import, was written at Bemer- 
 ton, and appears later as Group IX. The poems of 
 these two Groups have an abstract and impersonal 
 character distinguishing them from the rest of the 
 work of this singularly personal writer. In them 
 Herbert's favorite pronoun, /, rarely appears; 
 though of course these, no less than the others, 
 study the approaches of God and the individual 
 soul. 
 
 The arrangement is as follows : After a few 
 verses reproducing something of the sententious 
 wisdom of The Church-Porch comes the com- 
 pact poem on Man, a favorite with R. W. Emer- 
 son and w4th all readers who love penetrative 
 thought and daring phrase. The World depicts 
 the construction of Man as clumsily managed 
 by himself. To it succeed discussions of Sinne, 
 Faith, and Redemption, themes seldom absent 
 f^om Herbert's mind. And then comes a series of 
 
lia PREFACE 
 
 what is almost as frequent with him, reflections 
 on human changeableness; the whole naturally 
 concluding with some young man's verse about 
 Death and the life beyond. 
 
IV. MEDITATION 113 
 
 CHARMS AND KNOTS 
 
 Who reade a chapter when they rise, 
 Shall ne're be troubled with ill eyes. 
 
 A poore man's rod, when thou dost ride, 
 Is both a weapon and a guide. 
 
 Who shuts his hand, hath lost his gold; 
 Who opens it, hath it twice told. 
 
 Who goes to bed and doth not pray, 
 Maketh two nights to ev'ry day. 
 
114 IV. MEDITATION 
 
 Who by aspersions throw a stone 
 
 At th' head of others, hit their own. 10 
 
 Who looks on ground with humble eyes, 
 Findes himself there, and seeks to rise. 
 
 When th' hair is sweet through pride or lust. 
 The powder doth forget the dust. 
 
 Take one from ten, and what remains ? 15 
 Ten still, if sermons go for gains. 
 
 In shallow waters heav'n doth show; 
 But who drinks on, to hell may go. 
 
IV. MEDITATION 115 
 
 MAN 
 
 My God, I heard this day 
 That none doth build a stately habitation 
 But he that means to dwell therein. 
 What house more stately hath there been, 
 Or can be, then is Man ? To whose creation 
 All things are in decay. 6 
 
 For Man is ev'ry thing, 
 And more. He is a tree, yet bears no fruit; 
 A beast, yet is, or should be more; 
 Reason and speech we onely bring. 10 
 
 Parrats may thank us if they are not mute, 
 They go upon the score. 
 
 Man is all s}Tnmetrie, 
 Full of proportions, one limbe to another, 
 And all to all the world besides. 15 
 
 Each part may call the farthest, brother; 
 For head with foot hath private amitie. 
 And both with moons and tides. 
 
116 IV. MEDITATION 
 
 Nothing hath got so farre 
 But Man hath caught and kept it as his prey. 20 
 His eyes dismount the highest starre. 
 He is in Httle all the sphere. 
 Herbs gladly cure our flesh, because that they 
 Finde their acquaintance there. 
 
 For us the windes do blow, 25 
 
 The earth doth rest, heav'n move, and fountains 
 flow. 
 Nothing we see but means our good. 
 As our delight, or as our treasure; 
 The whole is either our cupboard of jood 
 
 Or cabinet of pleasure. 30 
 
 The starres have us to bed; 
 Night draws the curtain, which the sunne with- 
 draws ; 
 Musick and light attend our head. 
 All things unto our flesh are kinde 
 In their descent and being ; to our minde 35 
 
 In their ascent and cause. 
 
IV. MEDITATION 117 
 
 Each thing is full of dutie: 
 Waters united are our navigation; 
 Distinguished, our habitation; 
 Below, our drink; above, our meat; 40 
 
 Both are our cleanlinesse. Hath one such beautie ? 
 Then how are all things neat ? 
 
 More servants wait on Man 
 Then he'l take notice of; in ev'ry path 44 
 
 He treads down that which doth befriend him 
 When sicknesse makes him pale and wan. 
 Oh mightie love! Man is one world, and hath 
 Another to attend him. 
 
 Since then, my God, thou hast 
 So brave a Palace built, O dwell in it, 50 
 
 That it may dwell with thee at last! 
 Till then afford us so much wit 
 That as the world serves us we may serve thee, 
 And both thy servants be. 
 
118 IV. MEDITATION 
 
 THE WORLD 
 
 Love built a stately house ; where Fortune came, 
 
 And spinning phansies she was heard to say 
 That her fine cobwebs did support the frame, 
 Whereas they were supported by the same. 
 But Wisdome quickly swept them all away. 5 
 
 Then Pleasure came, who liking not the fashion, 
 
 Began to make Balcones, Terraces, 
 Till she had weakned all by alteration; 
 But rev'rend laws and many a ^proclamation 
 
 Reformed all at length with menaces. 10 
 
 Then enter'd Sinne, and with that Sycomore, 
 Whose leaves first sheltred man from drought 
 and dew, 
 Working and winding slily evermore, 13 
 
 The inward walls and Sommers cleft and tore; 
 But Grace shor'd these, and cut that as it grew. 
 
 Then Sinne combin'd with Death in a firm band 
 To rase the building to the very floore; 
 
 Which they effected, none could them withstand. 
 
 But Love and Grace took Glorie by the hand 
 And built a braver Palace then before. 20 
 
IV. MEDITATION 119 
 
 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. 5 
 
 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. 10 
 
120 IV. MEDITATION 
 
 SINNE 
 
 Lord, with what care hast thou begirt us round ! 
 
 Parents first season us; then schoolmasters 
 Dehver us to laws; they send us bound 
 
 To rules of reason, holy messengers. 
 Pulpits and sundayes, sorrow dogging sinne, 5 
 
 Afflictions sorted, anguish of all sizes, 
 Fine nets and strategems to catch us in. 
 
 Bibles laid open, millions of surprises. 
 Blessings beforehand, tyes of gratefulnesse, 
 
 The sound of glorie ringing in our eares; 10 
 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. 
 
IV. MEDITATION 121 
 
 FAITH 
 
 Lord, how couldst thou so much appease 
 Thy wrath for sinne, as when man's sight was 
 dimme 
 
 And could see Httle, to regard his ease 
 And bring by Faith all things to him ? 
 
 Hungrie I was and had no meat. 5 
 
 I did conceit a most delicious feast; 
 
 I had it straight, and did as truly eat 
 As ever did a welcome guest. 
 
 There is a rare outlandish root 9 
 
 Which, when I could not get, I thought it here; 
 
 That apprehension cur'd so well my foot 
 That I can walk to heav'n well neare. 
 
 I owed thousands and much more. 
 I did beleeve that I did nothing owe 
 
 And liv'd accordingly; my creditor 15 
 
 Beleeves so too, and lets me go. 
 
 Faith makes me any thing, or all 
 That I beleeve is in the sacred storie. 
 
 And where sinne placeth me in Adam's fall. 
 Faith sets me higher in his glorie. 20 
 
122 IV. MEDITATION 
 
 If I go lower in the book, 
 What can be lower then the common manger ? 
 
 Faith puts me there with him who sweetly took 
 Our flesh and frailtie, death and danger. 
 
 If blisse had lien in art or strength, 25 
 
 None but the wise or strong had gained it. 
 
 Where now by Faith all arms are of a length; 
 One size doth all conditions fit. 
 
 A peasant may beleeve as much 29 
 
 As a great Clerk, and reach the highest stature. 
 
 Thus dost thou make proud knowledge bend 
 and crouch 
 While grace fills up uneven nature. 
 
 When creatures had no reall light 
 Inherent in them, thou didst make the sunne 
 
 Impute a lustre and allow them bright, 35 
 
 And in this shew what Christ hath done. 
 
 That which before was darkned clean 
 With bushie groves, pricking the looker's eie, 
 
 Vanisht away when Faith did change the scene ; 
 And then appear'd a glorious skie. 40 
 
 What though my bodie runne to dust ? 
 Faith cleaves unto it, counting evr'y grain 
 
 With an exact and most particular trust, 
 Reserving all for flesh again. 
 
IV. MEDITATION 123 
 
 REDEMPTION 
 
 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 cancell th' old. 
 
 In heaven at his manour I him sought. 5 
 
 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, 10 
 
 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. 
 
124 IV. MEDITATION 
 
 HUMILITIE 
 
 I SAW the Vertues sitting hand in hand 
 
 In sev'rall ranks upon an azure throne, 
 Where all the beasts and fowls by their command 
 
 Presented tokens of submission. 
 Humilitie, who sat the lowest there 5 
 
 To execute their call, 
 When by the beasts the presents tendred were. 
 Gave them about to all. 
 
 The angrie Lion did present his paw, 9 
 
 Which by consent was giv'n to Mansuetude. 
 The fearfuU Hare her eares, which by their law 
 
 Humilitie did reach to Fortitude. 
 The jealous Turkic brought his corall-chain ; 
 
 That went to Temperance. 
 On Justice was bestow'd the Foxes brain, 15 
 
 Kill'd in the way by chance. 
 
IV. MEDITATION 125 
 
 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 liv'd to rule their side. 
 They had depos'd each one. 
 
 Humilitie, 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 Joyntly bandying. 
 
 They drive them soon away, 30 
 And then amerc'd them double gifts to bring 
 At the next Session-day. 
 
126 IV. MEDITATION 
 
 UNGRATEFULNESSE 
 
 Lord, with what bountie and rare clemencie 
 Hast thou redeem'd us from the grave! 
 If thou hadst let us runne, 
 Gladly had man ador'd the sunne, 
 And thought his god most brave; 5 
 
 Where now we shall be better gods then he. 
 
 Thou hast but two rare cabinets full of treasure, 
 The Trinitie and Incarnation. 
 
 Thou hast unlockt them both, 
 And made them jewels to betroth 10 
 The work of thy creation 
 Unto thy self in everlasting pleasure. 
 
 The statelier cabinet is the Trinitie, 
 
 Whose sparkling light accesse 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. 
 
IV. MEDITATION 127 
 
 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» reserved, and dark to thee, 25 
 When thou demandest but a heart. 
 He cavils instantly. 
 In his poore cabinet of bone 
 Sinnes have their box apart. 
 Defrauding thee, who gavest two for one. 30 
 
128 IV. MEDITATION 
 
 AFFLICTION 
 
 My God, I read this day 
 That planted Paradise was not so firm 
 
 As was and is thy floting Ark; whose stay 
 And anchor thou art onely, to confirm 
 
 And strengthen it in ev'ry age, 5 
 
 When waves do rise and tempests rage. 
 
 At first we liv'd in pleasure: 
 Thine own dehghts thou didst to us impart. 
 When we grew wanton, thou didst use dis- 
 pleasure 
 To make us thine ; yet that we might not part. 
 As we at first did board with thee, 11 
 
 Now thou wouldst taste our miserie. 
 
 There is but joy and grief; 
 If either will convert us, we are thine. 
 
 Some Angels us'd the first; if our relief 15 
 
 Take up the second, then thy double line 
 And sev'rall baits in either kinde 
 Furnish thy table to thy minde. 
 
 Affliction then is ours. 19 
 
 We are the trees whom shaking fastens more, 
 While blustring windes destroy the wanton 
 bowres, 
 And ruffle all their curious knots and store. 
 My God, so temper joy and wo 
 That thy bright beams may tame thy bow. 
 
IV. MEDITATION 129 
 
 MISERIE 
 
 Lord, let the Angels praise thy name; 
 Man is a foolish thing, a foolish thing. 
 Folly and Sinne play all his game. 
 His house still burns, and yet he still doth sing, 
 Man is but grasse, 5 
 
 He knows it, fill the glasse. 
 
 How canst thou brook his foolishnesse ? 
 Why he'l not lose a cup of drink for thee. 
 
 Bid him but temper his excesse, 9 
 
 Not he; he knows where he can better be, 
 As he will swear, 
 Then to serve thee in fear. 
 
 What strange pollutions doth he wed. 
 And make his own! As if none knew but he. 
 
 No man shall beat into his head 15 
 
 That thou within his curtains drawn canst see. 
 They are of cloth, 
 Where never yet came moth. 
 
130 IV. MEDITATION 
 
 The best of men, turn but thy hand 
 For one poore minute, stumble at a pinne. 20 
 
 They would not have their actions scann'd, 
 Nor any sorrow tell them that they sinne, 
 Though it be small, 
 And measure not their fall. 24 
 
 They quarrell thee, and would give over 
 The bargain made to serve thee; but thy love 
 
 Holds them unto it and doth cover 
 Their follies with the wing of thy milde Dove, 
 Not suff'ring those 
 Who would, to be thy foes. 30 
 
 My God, Man cannot praise thy name. 
 Thou art all brightnesse, perfect puritie; 
 
 The sunne holds down his head for shame, 
 Dead with eclipses, when we speak of thee. 
 
 How shall infection 35 
 
 Presume on thy perfection ? 
 
 As dirtie hands foul all they touch. 
 And those things most which are most pure and 
 fine, 
 So our clay hearts, ev'n when we crouch 
 To sing thy praises, make them lesse divine. 40 
 Yet either this 
 Or none thy portion is. 
 
IV. MEDITATION 131 
 
 Man cannot serve thee; let him go, 
 And serve the swine. There, there is his delight. 
 He doth not like this vertue, no; 45 
 
 Give him his dirt to wallow in all night. 
 These Preachers make 
 His head to shoot and ake. 
 
 Oh foolish man ! Where are thine eyes ? 
 How hast thou lost them in a croud of cares ? 50 
 
 Thou pull'st the rug and wilt not rise. 
 No, not to purchase the whole pack of starres. 
 There let them shine. 
 Thou must go sleep or dine. 
 
 The bird that sees a daintie bowre 55 
 
 Made in the tree where she was wont to sit, 
 
 Wonders and sings, but not his power 
 Who made the arbour; this exceeds her wit. 
 But Man doth know 
 The spring whence all things flow: 60 
 
132 IV. MEDITATION 
 
 And yet, as though he knew it not, 
 His knowledge winks and lets his humours reigne. 
 
 They make his life a constant blot. 
 And all the bloud of God to run in vain. 
 
 Ah wretch! What verse 65 
 
 Can thy strange wayes rehearse ? 
 
 Indeed at first Man was a treasure, 
 A box of jewels, shop of rarities, 
 
 A ring whose posie was. My 'pleasure. 
 He was a garden in a Paradise. 70 
 
 Glorie and grace 
 Did crown his heart and face. 
 
 But sinne hath fool'd him. Now he is 
 A lump of flesh, w^ithout a foot or wing 
 
 To raise him to the glimpse of blisse; 75 
 
 A sick toss'd vessel, dashing on each thing; 
 Nay, his own shelf; 
 My God, I mean my self. 
 
IV. MEDITATION 133 
 
 MORTIFICATION 
 
 How soon doth man decay! 
 When clothes are taken from a chest of sweets 
 To swaddle infants, whose young breath 
 
 Scarce knows the way. 
 Those clouts are little winding sheets 5 
 
 Which do consigne and send them unto death. 
 
 When boyes go first to bed. 
 They step into their voluntarie graves. 
 
 Sleep bindes them fast; onely their breath 
 
 Makes them not dead. 10 
 
 Successive nights, like rolling waves, 
 Convey them quickly who are bound for death. 
 
 When youth is frank and free. 
 And calls for musick while his veins do swell. 
 All day exchanging mirth and breath 15 
 
 In companie. 
 That musick summons to the knell 
 Wliich shall befriend him at the hduse of death. 
 
134 IV. MEDITATION 
 
 When man grows staid and wise, 
 Getting a house and home where he may move 20 
 Within the circle of his breath, 
 
 Schoohng his eyes. 
 That dumbe inclosure maketh love 
 Unto the coffin that attends his death. 
 
 When age grows low and weak, 25 
 
 Marking his grave, and thawing ev'ry yeare, 
 Till all do melt and drown his breath 
 
 When he would speak, 
 A chair or litter shows the biere 29 
 
 Which shall convey him to the house of death. 
 
 Man ere he is aware 
 Hath put together a solemnitie, 
 
 And drest his herse while he has breath 
 
 As yet to spare. 
 Yet Lord, instruct us so to die 35 
 
 That all these dyings may be life in death. 
 
IV. MEDITATION 135 
 
 DEATH 
 
 Death, thou wast once an uncouth hideous thing, 
 Nothing but bones, 
 The sad effect of sadder grones; 
 Thy mouth was open but thou couldst not sing. 
 
 For we consider' d thee as at some six 5 
 
 Or ten yeares hence. 
 After the losse of Kfe and sense. 
 Flesh being turn'd to dust, and bones to sticks. 
 
 We lookt on this side of thee, shooting short; 
 
 Where we did finde 10 
 
 The shells of fledge souls left behinde. 
 Dry dust, which sheds no tears but may extort. 
 
136 IV. MEDITATION 
 
 But since our Saviour's death did put some bloud 
 Into thy face. 
 Thou art grown fair and full of grace, 15 
 
 Much in request, much sought for as a good. 
 
 For we do now behold thee gay and glad. 
 As at dooms-day; 
 When souls shall wear their new aray,i 
 And all thy bones with beautie shall be clad. 
 
 Therefore we can go die as sleep, and trust 21 
 Half that we have 
 Unto an honest faithfull grave. 
 Making our pillows either down or dust. 
 
IV. MEDITATION 137 
 
 DOOMS-DAY 
 
 Come away, 
 Make no delay. 
 Summon all the dust to rise, 
 Till it stirre and rubbe the eyes, 
 While this member jogs the other, 5 
 
 Each one whispring, Live you brother? 
 
 Come away, 
 Make this the day. 
 Dust, alas, no musick feels 
 But thy trumpet, then it kneels; 10 
 
 As peculiar notes and strains 
 Cure Tarantulaes raging pains. 
 
 Come away, 
 O make no stay! 
 Let the graves make their confession, 15 
 Lest at length they plead possession. 
 Fleshes stubbornnesse may have 
 Read that lesson to the grave. 
 
138 IV. MEDITATION 
 
 Come away, 
 Thy flock doth stray. 20 
 
 Some to windes their bodie lend, 
 And in them may drown a friend; 
 Some in noisome vapours grow 
 To a plague and publick wo. 
 
 Come away, 25 
 
 Help our decay. 
 Man is out of order hurl'd, 
 Parcel' d out to all the world. 
 Lord, thy broken consort raise. 
 And the musick shall be praise. 30 
 
IV. MEDITATION 139 
 
 JUDGEMENT 
 
 Almightie Judge, how shall poore wretches brook 
 Thy dreadful! look, 
 
 Able a heart of iron to appall, 
 
 When thou shalt call 
 For ev'ry man's peculiar book ? 6 
 
 What others mean to do, I know not well; 
 
 Yet I heare tell. 
 That some will turn thee to some leaves therein 
 
 So void of sinne 
 That they in merit shall excell. 10 
 
 But I resolve, when thou shalt call for mine, 
 
 That to decline. 
 And thrust a Testament into thy hand; 
 
 Let that be scann'd. 14 
 
 There thou shalt finde my faults are thine. 
 
140 IV. MEDITATION 
 
 HEAVEN 
 
 O WHO will show me those delights on high ? 
 
 Echo. I. 
 
 Thou Echo, thou art mortall, all men know. 
 
 Echo. No. 4 
 
 W^ert thou not born among the trees and leaves ? 
 
 Echo. Leaves. 
 
 And are there any leaves that still abide ? 
 
 Echo. Bide. 
 
 W^hat leaves are they ? Impart the matter wholly. 
 
 Echo. Holy. 10 
 
 Are holy leaves the Echo then of blisse ? 
 
 Echo. Yes. 
 
 Then tell me, what is that supreme delight ? 
 
 Echo. Light. 
 
 Light to the minde; what shall the will enjoy ? 15 
 
 Echo. Joy. 
 
 But are there cares and businesse with the plea- 
 sure? 
 
 Echo. Leisure. 
 
 Light, joy, and leisure ; but shall they persever ? 
 
 Echo. Ever. 20 
 
V 
 THE INNER LIFE 
 
PREFACE 
 
 IN the poems to which I have ventured to give 
 the title of The Inner Life we for the first 
 time meet the poetic modes most characteristic of 
 Herbert's temperament. Other poets before Her- 
 bert had written reflective verse, sagaciously in- 
 structing or meditating on the perplexing intricacy 
 of divine and human things. Southwell, Ralegh, 
 Donne, were Herbert's predecessors in such holy 
 anatomy. Southwell largely and other men in 
 single poems had celebrated the institutions of the 
 Church, though conceiving them in no such per- 
 sonal way as Herbert. But the religious love- 
 lyric, which begins with this Group and fills all the 
 remainder except Group VIII, was developed by 
 Herbert. Not that the type did not already exist 
 in the Latin poetry of the Mediaeval Church. 
 Poets, too, of France and Germany had again and 
 again put tender communings with God into their 
 vernacular speech. In England translations of the 
 Psalms were common, and Hymns — the average 
 pious utterance of a multitude — were just coming 
 into use. Nothing altogether new ever appears on 
 earth. The most original writer creates his novelty 
 out of what already exists. Yet by bringing tend- 
 
144 PREFACE TO 
 
 encies to full expression he still genuinely produces. 
 So Herbert produced a new species of English 
 poetry, a species so common since his time and 
 through his influence that we now forget that a 
 Herbert was required for its production. 
 
 The character of this new poetry, I have else- 
 where fully discussed and I need here only 
 summarize it. Herbert^s immediate predecessors 
 had developed the love-lyric to an exquisite and 
 often artificial perfection. As the mediaeval painter 
 found a set subject in the Madonna and Child, and 
 to a subject not his own gave his personal stamp 
 through small refinements of treatment, so did the 
 Elizabethan and Jacobean poet find in the lan- 
 guishing lover a subject set to his hand. That the 
 poets themselves did sometimes veritably languish, 
 no one will doubt. But whether instructed by expe- 
 rience or engaged in exploiting a theme, they one 
 and all bring before us the exalted lady with a 
 heart colder than is nowadays customary, a heart 
 which when once engaged is easily alienated, and 
 of whose slightest favor the miserable lover knows 
 himself to be perpetually unworthy. Through long 
 sequences of lyrics — sonnets commonly, less fre- 
 quently verse of looser structure — every stage is 
 worked out in the slow approach of the undeserv- 
 ing to the exalted one. To us moderns, who feel 
 but sKghtly the impulse to imaginative construc- 
 tion, such detailed exhibits of all the possible 
 phases of longing, hope, and despair appear strange 
 
THE INNER LIFE 145 
 
 when presented by serious and middle-aged men. 
 The intellectual fashions of one age are hard for 
 another to comprehend. 
 
 To Herbert these fashions were matters of 
 course. From them he was able to detach himself 
 only sufficiently to condemn the objects loved, but 
 not to change the methods of representing love 
 itself. A literary artist through and through, 
 rejoicing in refinements, feeling no antagonism 
 between cool study and vivid emotion, ever ready 
 to note whatever shade of feeling a situation de- 
 manded and to develop it from germs of his own, 
 Herbert brings over into the religious field the 
 heart-searchings, the sighs, and the self-accusa- 
 tions which hitherto had belonged to secular love. 
 Yet he is no trifler. Over-intellectualism is always 
 his danger. He merely undertakes to treat as liter- 
 ary material the dealings of God and his own heart; 
 and in this new field of love he follows the beauti- 
 ful shimmering methods which Shakespeare had 
 taught him in his devotion to the lovely youth, or 
 Spenser in his service of the nameless lady. During 
 the interval, too, which parts the second Stuart 
 from Elizabeth, the national temper had changed 
 and grown profoundly introspective and grave. 
 Herbert is contrasted with Breton and Campion as 
 Browning with Burns. 
 
 Grouped together here, then, — so far as these 
 can be parted from the similarly minded verses of 
 preceding sections, — are all the poems which 
 
146 PREFACE 
 
 Herbert wrote at Cambridge in which his changing 
 moods of mind are studied and heightened for the 
 purpose of reflecting vicissitudes in his love of 
 God. Beginning with a few glad notes, he quickly 
 perceives in The Thanksgiving and The Re- 
 PRiSALL how incompetent he is at his best to make 
 gifts worthy of Him whom he adores. In The Sin- 
 ner, Deniall, and Church-Lock and Key, he 
 acknowledges that the failure of God to smile upon 
 him is due to radical faults in himself; faults which 
 in Nature and Repentance seem to connect 
 themselves with specific acts of wrong-doing which 
 in the Bemerton days the third stanza of The 
 Pilgrimage recalls. The poems which follow are 
 akin to these in their lamentations of instability. At 
 the close I have hung that wreathed garland which 
 he hopes may even in his crooked^ winding wayes 
 express his tender reverence. 
 
V. THE INNER LIFE 147 
 
 OUR LIFE IS HID WITH CHRIST IN 
 GOD 
 
 (COLOSSIANS III, 3) 
 
 My words and thoughts do both expresse this 
 
 notion, 
 That Li^e hath with the sun a double motion; 
 The first Is straight, and our diurnall friend, 
 The other Hid^ and doth obHquely bend. 
 One life is wrapt In flesh, and tends to earth; 5 
 The other winds towards Him whose happie birth 
 Taught me to live here so That still one eye 
 Should aim and shoot at that which Is on high, 
 Quitting with daily labour all My pleasure, 
 To gain at harvest an eternall Treasure. 10 
 
148 V. THE INNER LIFE 
 
 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 ? 5 
 
 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, 9 
 
 That thou shouldst it so eye and wooe, 
 Po wring 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. 14 
 
 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. 20 
 
V. THE INNER LIFE 149 
 
 THE THANKSGIVING 
 
 Oh King of grief ! (A title strange, yet true, 
 
 To thee of all kings onely due.) 
 Oh King of wounds ! How shall I grieve for thee, 
 
 Who in all grief preventest me ? 
 Shall I weep bloud ? Why thou hast wept such 
 store 5 
 
 That all thy body was one doore. 
 Shall I be scourged, flouted, boxed, sold ? 
 
 'T is but to tell the tale is told. 
 My God, my God, why dost thou "part from me ? 
 
 Was such a grief as cannot be. 10 
 
 Shall I then sing, skipping thy dolefuU storie, 
 
 And side with thy triumphant glorie ? 
 Shall thy strokes be my stroking? Thorns, my 
 flower ? 
 
 Thy rod, my posie ? Crosse, my bower ? 
 
150 V. THE INNER LIFE 
 
 But how then shall I imitate thee and 15 
 
 Copie thy fair, though bloudie hand ? 
 Surely I will revenge me on thy love. 
 
 And trie who shall victorious prove. 
 If thou dost give me wealth, I will restore 
 
 All back unto thee by the poore. 20 
 
 If thou dost give me honour, men shall see 
 
 The honour doth belong to thee. 
 I will not marry; or, if she be mine. 
 
 She and her children shall be thine. 
 My bosome friend if he blaspheme thy name, 
 
 I will tear thence his love and fame. 26 
 One half of me being gone, the rest I give 
 
 Unto some Chappell, die or live. 
 As for thy passion — But of that anon, 
 
 When with the other I have done. 30 
 For thy predestination I'le contrive 
 
 That three yeares hence, if I survive, 
 I'le build a spittle, or mend common wayes, 
 
 But mend mine own without delayes. 
 
V. THE INNER LIFE 151 
 
 Then I will use the works of thy creation 35 
 
 As if I us'd them but for fashion. 
 The world and I will quarrell, and the yeare 
 
 Shall not perceive that I am here. 
 My musick shall finde thee, and ev'ry string 
 
 Shall have his attribute to sing, 40 
 
 That all together may accord in thee. 
 
 And prove one God, one harmonic. 
 It thou shalt give me wit, it shall appeare; 
 
 If thou hast giv'n it me, 't is here. 44 
 Nay, I will reade thy book and never move 
 
 Till I have found therein thy love, 
 Thy art of love, which I'le turn back on thee: 
 
 O my deare Saviour, Victorie! 
 Then for thy passion — I will do for that — 
 
 Alas, my God, I know not what. 50 
 
152 V. THE INNER LIFE 
 
 THE REPRISALL 
 
 I HAVE consider' d it, and finde 
 There is no dealing with thy mighty passion; 
 
 For though I die for thee, I am behinde. 
 My sinnes deserve the condemnation. 
 
 O make me innocent, that I 5 
 
 May give a disentangled state and free. 
 
 And yet thy wounds still my attempts defie, 
 For by thy death I die for thee. 
 
 Ah, was it not enough that thou 
 By thy eternall glorie didst outgo me ? 10 
 
 Couldst thou not grief's sad conquests me allow, 
 But in all vict'ries overthrow me ? 
 
 Yet by confession will I come 
 Into the conquest. Though I can do nought 
 
 Against thee, in thee I will overcome 15 
 
 The man who once against thee fought. 
 
V. THE INNER LIFE 153 
 
 THE SINNER 
 
 Lord, how I am all ague when I seek 
 
 What I have treasur'd in my memorie! 
 Since if my soul make even with the week. 
 
 Each seventh note by right is due to thee. 
 I finde there quarries of pil'd vanities, 5 
 
 But shreds of holinesse, that dare not venture 
 To shew their face, since crosse to thy decrees. 
 
 There the circumference earth is, heav'n the 
 centre. 
 In so much dregs the quintessence is small; 
 
 The spirit and good extract of my heart 10 
 
 Comes to about the many hundredth part. 
 Yet Lord restore thine image, heare my call! 
 
 And though my hard heart scarce to thee can 
 grone, 
 
 Remember that thou once didst v/rite in stone. 
 
154 V. THE INNER LIFE 
 
 DENIALL 
 
 When my devotions could not pierce 
 Thy silent eares, 
 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 flie asunder. 
 Each took his way: some would to pleasures go, 
 Some to the warres and thunder 
 
 Of alarms. 10 
 
 As good go any where, they say. 
 As to benumme 
 Both knees and heart in crying night and day, 
 Comey come, my God, O cornel 
 
 But no hearing. 15 
 
V. THE INNER LIFE 155 
 
 O that thou shouldst give dust a tongue 
 To crie to thee, 
 And then not heare it crying! All day long 
 My heart was in my knee. 
 
 But no hearing. 20 
 
 Therefore my soul lay out of sight, 
 Untun'd, unstrung. 
 My feeble spirit, unable to look right. 
 Like a nipt blossome hung 
 
 Discontented. 25 
 
 O cheer and tune my heartlesse breast, 
 Deferre no time. 
 That so thy favours granting my request. 
 They and my minde may chime. 
 
 And mend my ryme. 30 
 
156 V. THE INNER LIFE 
 
 CHURCH-LOCK AND KEY 
 
 I KNOW it is my sinne which locks thine eares 
 
 And bindes thy hands, 
 Out-crying my requests, drowning my tears. 
 Or else the chilnesse of my faint demands. 
 
 But as cold hands are angrie with the fire 5 
 
 And mend it still, 
 So I do lay the want of my desire 
 
 Not on my sinnes or coldnesse, but thy will. 
 
 Yet heare, O God, onely for his bloud's sake 
 
 Which pleads for me; 10 
 
 For though sinnes plead too, yet like stones they 
 make 
 His bloud's sweet current much more loud to 
 be. 
 
V. THE INNER LIFE 157 
 
 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 5 
 
 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 10 
 
 Vanish into a winde, 
 Making thy workmanship deceit. 
 
 O smooth my rugged heart, and there 
 Engrave thy rev'rend law and fear! 
 Or make a new one, since the old 15 
 
 Is saplesse grown, 
 And a much fitter stone 
 To hide my dust then thee to hold. 
 
158 V. THE INNER LIFE 
 
 REPENTANCE 
 
 Lord, I confesse my sinne is great; 
 Great is my sinne. Oh! gently treat 
 With thy quick flow'r, thy momentanie bloom, 
 Whose life still pressing 
 Is one undressing, 5 
 
 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, 10 
 
 If life be told 
 From what Hfe fceleth, Adam's fall. 
 
 O let thy height of mercie then 
 Compassionate short-breathed men! 14 
 
 Cut me not off for my most foul transgression. 
 I do confesse 
 My f oolishnesse ; 
 My God, accept of my confession. 
 
V. THE INNER LIFE 159 
 
 Sweeten at length this bitter bowl 
 Which thou hast pour'd into my soul. 20 
 
 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, 25 
 
 Forthwith he waxeth wo and wan. 
 Bitternesse fills our bowels; all our hearts 
 Pine and decay, 
 And drop away. 
 And Carrie with them th' other parts. 30 
 
 But thou wilt sinne and grief destroy, 
 That so the broken bones may joy, 
 And tune together in a well-set song, 
 Full of his praises 
 Who dead men raises. 35 
 
 Fractures well cur'd make us more strong. 
 
160 V. THE INNER LIFE 
 
 UNKINDNESSE 
 
 Lord, make me coy and tender to offend. 
 In friendship, first I think if that agree 
 Which I intend 
 
 Unto my friend's intent and end. 
 I would not use a friend as I use Thee. 5 
 
 If any touch my friend, or his good name. 
 It is my honour and my love to free 
 His blasted fame 
 
 From the least spot or thought of blame. 
 I could not use a friend as I use Thee. 10 
 
 My friend may spit upon my curious floore. 
 Would he have gold? I lend it instantly; 
 But let the poore, 
 
 And thou within them, starve at doore. 
 I cannot use a friend as I use Thee. 15 
 
 When that my friend pretendeth to a place, 
 I quit my interest and leave it free. 
 But when thy grace 
 
 Sues for my heart, I thee displace, 
 Nor would I use a friend as I use Thee. 20 
 
 Yet can a friend what thou hast done fulfill ? 
 O write in brasse. My God upon a tree 
 His bloud did spill 
 
 Onely to purchase my good-will; 
 Yet use I not my joes as I use thee. 25 
 
V. THE INNER LIFE 161 
 
 GRACE 
 
 My stock lies dead, and no increase 
 Doth my dull husbandrie improve. 
 O let thy graces without cease 
 
 Drop from above! 
 
 If still the sunne should hide his face, 5 
 
 Thy house would but a dungeon prove, 
 Thy works night's captives. O let grace 
 Drop from above! 
 
 The dew doth ev'ry morning fall, 
 
 And shall the dew out-strip thy dove ? 10 
 The dew, for which grasse cannot call. 
 Drop from above. 
 
 Death is still working hke a mole, 
 
 And digs my grave at each remove; 
 Let grace work too, and on my soul 15 
 
 Drop from above. 
 
 Sinne is still hammering my heart 
 
 Unto a hardnesse void of love; 
 Let suppling grace, to crosse his art. 
 
 Drop from above. 20 
 
 O come ! For thou dost know the way. 
 
 Or if to me thou wilt not move, 
 Remove me where I need not say. 
 
 Drop from above. 
 
162 V. THE INNER LIFE 
 
 THE TEMPER 
 
 It cannot be. Where is that mightie joy 
 Which just now took up all my heart ? 
 Lord, if thou must needs use thy dart, 
 
 Save that and me, or sin for both destroy. 
 
 The grosser world stands to thy word and art ; 
 But thy diviner world of grace 6 
 
 Thou suddenly dost raise and race, 
 
 And ev'ry day a new Creatour art. 
 
 O fix thy chair of grace, that all n!y powers 
 May also fix their reverence ; 10 
 
 For when thou dost depart from hence, 
 
 They grow unruly and sit in thy bowers. 
 
 Scatter, or binde them all to bend to thee. 
 Though elements change and heaven move, 
 Let not thy higher Court remove, 15 
 
 But keep a standing Majestic in me. 
 
V. THE INNER LIFE 163 
 
 THE TEMPER 
 
 How should I praise thee, Lord! How should 
 my rymes 
 Gladly engrave thy love in steel, 
 If what my soul doth feel sometimes, 
 
 My soul might ever feel! 4 
 
 Although there were some fourtie heav'ns, or more, 
 Sometimes I peere above them all; 
 Sometimes I hardly reach a score. 
 Sometimes to hell I fall. 
 
 O rack me not to such a vast extent, 
 
 Those distances belong to thee. 10 
 
 The world's too little for thy tent, 
 A grave too big for me. 
 
164 V. THE INNER LIFE 
 
 Wilt thou meet arms with man, that thou dost 
 stretch 
 A crumme of dust from heav'n to hell ? 
 Will great God measure with a wretch ? 15 
 
 Shall he thy stature spell ? 
 
 O let me, when thy roof my soul hath hid, 
 
 O let me roost and nestle there; 
 Then of a sinner thou art rid. 
 
 And I of hope and fear. 20 
 
 Yet take thy way, for sure thy way is best, 
 
 Stretch or contract me thy poore debter. 
 This is but tuning of my breast. 
 
 To make the musick better. 
 
 Whether I flie with angels, fall with dust, 25 
 
 Thy hands made both, and I am there. 
 Thy power and love, my love and trust, 
 Make one place ev'ry where. 
 
V. THE INNER LIFE 165 
 
 A WREATH 
 
 A WREATHED garland of deserved praise. 
 
 Of praise deserved, unto thee I give, 
 I give to thee who knowest all my wayes. 
 
 My crooked winding wayes, wherein I live. 
 Wherein I die, not live; for Hfe is straight, 5 
 
 Straight as a line, and ever tends to thee, 
 To thee, who art more farre above deceit 
 
 Then deceit seems above simplicitie. 
 Give me simplicitie, that I may live; 9 
 
 So live and like, that I may know, thy wayes, 
 Know them and practise them. Then shall I give 
 
 For this poore wreath, give thee a crown of 
 praise- 
 
VI 
 
 THE CRISIS 
 
PREFACE 
 
 ANEW period in the life of Herbert now 
 begins, a period marked by a change of resi- 
 dence and covering approximately the years 1626- 
 30. During these years the opposing forces of his 
 nature came into open conflict and brought him 
 distress of mind and of body. 
 
 By birth, temperament, and many circumstances 
 of his life, Herbert was impelled to a life of fasliion, 
 enjoyment, and irresponsible self-culture. "He 
 took content in beauty, wit, musick and pleasant 
 conversation." He knew the ways of learning, 
 honor, and pleasure. Easily he answered to the 
 calls of honour, riches, and fair eyes. Coming of 
 a noble family, Walton says, "he kept himself at 
 too great a distance with all his inferiours, and 
 his cloaths seemd to prove that he put too great 
 a value on his parts and Parentage." His early 
 biographer, Oley, despairs of describing "that 
 person of his, which afforded so unusual a contes- 
 saration of elegancies and singularities to the be- 
 holder." His eldest brother, Edward, after years 
 of romantic adventure on the Continent, was 
 appointed ambassador to the French Court. His 
 favorite brother, Henry, was Master of the Revels 
 at the English Court. Three other brothers were 
 
170 PREFACE TO 
 
 in the public service. Several powerful noblemen 
 besides his great kinsman, the Earl of Pembroke, 
 were his patrons. He was often at Court or with his 
 uncle, the Earl of Danby. He indulged "a genteel 
 humour for cloaths and Court-like company, and 
 seldom look'd towards Cambridge unless the King 
 were there, but then he never fail'd." In short, 
 the favor of the great, the glitter of society, the 
 quick returns of courtesie and wit, and all elegancies 
 of speech, dress, and living, were congenial to him. 
 On one side of his nature Herbert was a brilliant 
 man of the world, a richly endowed child of the 
 Renaissance. 
 
 Such a temperament inevitably induced secu- 
 lar ambition. After a time a bookish life became 
 repulsive ; for Herbert felt his powers, hated stag- 
 nation, and delighted in intellectual activity. In 
 1619, when he was well under way with his divin- 
 ity studies, he turned aside to seek the Orator- 
 ship. This office he held for eight years. But he 
 sought also to become an assistant Secretary of 
 State. The Oratorship was the natural stepping- 
 stone. Of the two preceding Orators, Sir Robert 
 Naunton became Secretary of State, and Sir 
 Francis Nethersole Secretary to the Queen of 
 Bohemia. Sir Robert Creighton, who followed 
 Herbert, became a Bishop. Both predecessor and 
 successor at Bemerton became Bishops. But in 
 1625 Herbert's political hopes approached an end; 
 for in that year the king died, and within the 
 
THE CRISIS 171 
 
 following year the whole group of nobles, Lord 
 Bacon included, to whom Herbert had looked for 
 support. A year later came the saddest death of 
 all, that of his mother. Herbert immediately re- 
 signed the Oratorship, and seriously faced the 
 problems which a disorganized life had induced. 
 Up to about 1627 he had blindly drifted — under 
 the guidance of what Walton styles "his natural 
 elegance of behaviour, tongue, and pen" — toward 
 social eminence. The hking for stately pleasures 
 and fashionable distinction had ever a strong, and 
 hitherto a controlling, influence over him. But the 
 changed conditions brought about by the death of 
 his friends set free another force which he had 
 always felt as profounder and more really authori- 
 tative, the force of religion, — religion to be exer- 
 cised in the service of the Church. From childhood 
 Herbert knew himself to be a dedicated soul, and 
 inwardly, even in his most dilatory waywardness, 
 he approved the dedication. Side by side with his 
 fashionable tastes he had a veritable genius for 
 religion. His feeble frame precluded his entering 
 the army or any hardy profession. Oley says that 
 *'he was dedicated to serve God in his sanctuary 
 before he was born." In The Glance he himself 
 tells how in the midst of youth he had felt God's 
 gracious eye look on him. At Westminster School 
 questions of religious controversy had engaged 
 him. In a letter of 1617 he speaks of now setting 
 foot into Divinity, to lay the platform of my future 
 
172 PREFACE TO 
 
 life, and thus of obeying that spirit which hath 
 guided me hitherto, and of atchieving my holy ends. 
 In a letter of 1622 to his mother he fears sickness 
 as something which has made him unable to per- 
 form those offices for which I came into the world 
 and must yet be kept in it. Of the poems printed in 
 the first five Groups, a majority must have been 
 written during these very years of courtly aspira- 
 tion. Such incongruities were not exceptional in 
 men of the later Renaissance, nor is there the least 
 reason to doubt that underneath all his gay- 
 nesses he truly loved God. His God — a poet's 
 God — was highly personal, individual even; but 
 only in union with Him could Herbert find peace. 
 His very wealth of nature made him feel the more 
 keenly the weight of chance desires. Beauty and 
 order were in his Platonic soul. He did not wish 
 to be his own master, but rather through divine 
 obedience to escape from personal caprice. 
 
 Early, too, in his boyhood, through his conse- 
 cration to the priesthood by his pious and master- 
 ful mother, he had formed an inseparable associa- 
 tion between being holy and becoming a priest. 
 Whether this association was wise, we need not ask. 
 It controlled Herbert's life, and hence is important 
 to understand. Catholics sometimes speak of the 
 call "to become a religious;" by which phrase 
 they intend not merely becoming heavenly minded, 
 but becoming a monk or nun. The two aims are 
 in their thought indistinguishable. I have known 
 
THE CRISIS 173 
 
 Protestant young persons who thought they must 
 withhold their hearts from God until they should 
 be wilhng to become missionaries, or to meet some 
 other external standard which in a more or less 
 arbitrary way had become connected in their minds 
 with hohness. Entering the priesthood was Her- 
 bert's test, and in his instinctive thought it was 
 fully identified with allegiance to God. In terms 
 of it allegiance and faithlessness were estimated. 
 While he always professedly maintained this ulti- 
 mate purpose, whenever he felt responsibility irk- 
 some and was incHned to drift with the fashiona- 
 ble tide, he found excuses for delaying the great 
 act. And when he experienced the emptiness of 
 Hving by the day and longed for the eternal, the 
 call to the priesthood became once more impera- 
 tive. Little can be understood in the verse or Hfe 
 of Herbert unless we bear in mind that in his 
 consciousness there was complete identification of 
 submission to God and acceptance of the priest- 
 hood. 
 
 Such, then, are the opposing forces, long at work, 
 whose fierce and open conflict at a crisis period 
 Herbert here records. The love of elegant plea- 
 sure, whose issue is secular ambition, contends 
 with the love of God, whose embodiment is the 
 priesthood. Both are alike unforced and genuine 
 passions. Rightly or wrongly they are regarded by 
 Herbert as fundamentally incompatible. He never 
 doubts which of the two must ultimately win, but 
 
174 PREFACE TO 
 
 at any particular moment he dreads the final deci- 
 sion. My soul doth love thee, yet it loves delay. The 
 man is double-minded. In such a struggle, with- 
 out regard to whether we approve the assumed 
 antithesis, we must see that there is magnificent 
 poetic material. Such Herbert found it. As an 
 artist, in whom feeling is not falsified by represen- 
 tation, he watched every stage of the contest and 
 recorded it with poignant splendor. Peculiar and 
 possibly distorted emotions which sprang up in 
 a single mind under special conditions of time, 
 family, and belief, he fashioned into pictures of 
 such universal and perpetual beauty that men of 
 alien ideals have for three centuries been able 
 to find in these experiences subtle interpretations 
 of their own. 
 
 Ellis, in his Specimens of EngHsh Poetry, re- 
 marks that " nature intended Herbert for a knight- 
 errant, but disappointed ambition made him a 
 saint." That is as misleading a half-truth as Fer- 
 rar's declaration in his Epistle to the Reader that 
 Herbert was impelled altogether by "inward en- 
 forcements, for outward there was none." While 
 unquestionably the priesthood was his accepted 
 aim from childhood, he spent most of the last third 
 of his life in trying to avoid it, and it is doubtful 
 if he would ever have reached it had not events 
 between 1625 and 1629 obstructed other courses. 
 His inclination to enter the service of God, how- 
 ever, was just as genuine as was his disposition to 
 
THE CRISIS 175 
 
 find excuses for delay. He could not go away nor 
 'persevere. That is his own judgment as expressed 
 in his three principal autobiographic poems, — 
 Affliction, included in this Group, Love Un- 
 known and The Pilgrimage of Group IX. 
 
 In an essay on the Life of Herbert I have gone 
 over the events of this Crisis period with some care, 
 and shown how they cooperated to bring about his 
 final decision for the priesthood. Epitomizing 
 them here, I may mention the increased interest in 
 religious things, partly causing and partly caused 
 by his rebuilding of Leighton Church; the wreck 
 of his political hopes, brought about by the death of 
 the King and his own noble patrons ; the reproach- 
 ful loss of his mother, who had been his chief 
 incitement to the priesthood ; the resignation of 
 the Oratorship, and his withdrawal from the Uni- 
 versity. The mental conflicts attending these 
 events threw him into serious illness. He went into 
 retirement. A severe course of fasting saved his 
 life, but left his health shattered. During this 
 retirement the poems constituting the present 
 Group, with possibly a few included in earlier 
 Groups, were written. Near the close of the period, 
 in March, 1629, at Edingdon Church, he suddenly 
 married Jane Danvers, a daughter of the cousin 
 of his stepfather. There is no mention of her in 
 his verse, unless in one dark line of The Pil- 
 grimage. 
 
 When, in 1630, the Rectory of Fuggleston-cum- 
 
176 PREFACE TO 
 
 Bemerton became vacant, the Earl of Pembroke 
 induced the King to offer it to George Herbert. 
 Though Herbert had already "put on a resolution 
 for the Clergy,'* a month's hesitation followed. 
 Then at a friend's persuasion he paid a visit to the 
 Earl at Wilton House, where at that time the King 
 and Laud also were. " That night," says Walton, 
 " the Earl acquainted Dr. Laud with his Kinsman's 
 irresolution. And the Bishop did the next day 
 so convince Mr. Herbert that the refusal of it was 
 a sin, that a Taylor was sent for to come speedily 
 from SaUsbury to Wilton to take measure and make 
 him Canonical Cloaths against next day; which the 
 Taylor did ; and Mr. Herbert being so habited, 
 went with his presentation to the learned Dr. Dav- 
 enant, who was then Bishop of Salisbury, and he 
 gave him Institution immediately." This was April 
 26, 1630. Five months later he received formal 
 Ordination and came to live at Bemerton. He had 
 just reached his thirty-eighth year when he began 
 to carry out his lifelong purpose. 
 
 At the beginning of the Group which describes 
 this struggle I place Easter Wings and the long 
 Affliction ; the latter written, I believe, as late 
 as 1628 and well summarizing the whole period 
 of turmoil. Three poems follow, expressing politi- 
 cal disappointment and the sense of depression 
 in being cast aside. In two or three pieces there is 
 repentance for a particular past sin. Then begins 
 the debate over taking final Orders, extending 
 
THE CRISIS 177 
 
 through half a dozen pieces and culminating in 
 Peace, The Pearl, Obedience, The Rose, and 
 An Offering. The Series closes with two songs 
 of gladness and one of tender distrust of his own 
 desert. 
 
178 VI. THE CRISIS 
 
 EASTER WINGS 
 
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 CO O 
 
 F- a - ^- ^ :^ 
 
VI. THE CRISIS 
 
 179 
 
 EASTER WINGS 
 
 'X B 
 
 S- -. 2- 
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 Q 3 <! 
 
 B ^ 
 
 g- ? ^ e-. ^ ^ 
 
 B B 
 
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180 VI. THE CRISIS 
 
 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 dehghts, 5 
 
 Augmented with thy gracious benefits. 
 
 I looked on thy furniture so fine, 
 
 And made it fine to me; 
 
 Thy glorious houshold-stuffe did me entwine, 
 
 And 'tice me unto thee. 10 
 
 Such starres I counted mine; both heav'n and 
 earth 
 
 Payd me my wages in a world of mirth. 
 
VI. THE CRISIS 181 
 
 What pleasures could I want whose King I served ? 
 
 Where joyes my fellows were. 
 Thus argu'd into hopes, my thoughts reserved 15 
 
 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. 20 
 
 Mydayes were straw'dwithflow'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, 25 
 
 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 Hved. 30 
 
182 VI. THE CRISIS 
 
 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. 34 
 
 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. 40 
 
 I was entangled in the world of strife 
 
 Before I had the power to change my life. 
 
 Yet, for I threatned oft the siege to raise. 
 Not simpring all mine age. 
 
 Thou often didst with Academick praise 45 
 
 Melt and dissolve my rage. 
 
 I took thy sweetned pill till I came neare; 
 
 I could not go away, nor persevere. 
 
VI. THE CRISIS 183 
 
 Yet lest perchance I should too happie be 
 
 In my unhappinesse, 50 
 
 Turning my purge to food, thou throwest me 
 Into more sicknesses. 
 
 Thus doth thy power crosse-bias me, not making 
 
 Thine own gift good, yet me from my wayes taking. 
 
 Now I am here, what thou wilt do with me 55 
 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 houshold to me, and I should be just. 60 
 
 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. 66 
 
184 VI. THE CRISIS 
 
 EMPLOYMENT 
 
 If as a flowre doth spread and die, 
 
 Thou wouldst extend me to some good, 
 Before I were by frost's extremitie 
 
 Nipt in the bud, 
 
 The sweetnesse and the praise were thine, 5 
 
 But the extension and the room 
 Which in thy garland I should fill, were mine 
 
 At thy great doom. 
 
 For as thou dost impart thy grace, 
 
 The greater shall our glorie be. 10 
 
 The measure of our joyes is in this place, 
 
 The stuffe with thee. 
 
 Let me not languish then, and spend 
 
 A life as barren to thy praise 
 As is the dust to which that life doth tend, 15 
 
 But with delaies. 
 
 All things are busie; onely I 
 
 Neither bring hony with the bees, 
 Nor flowres to make that, nor the husbandrie 
 
 To water these. 20 
 
 I am no link of thy great chain. 
 
 But all my companie is a weed. 
 Lord place me in thy consort; give one strain 
 
 To my poore reed. 
 
VI. THE CRISIS 185 
 
 THE ANSWER 
 
 My comforts drop and melt away like snow. 
 
 I shake my head, and all the thoughts and ends. 
 Which my fierce youth did bandie, fall and flow 
 
 Like leaves about me ; or like summer friends, 
 Flyes of estates and sunne-sliine. But to all 5 
 
 Who think me eager, hot, and undertaldng, 
 But in my prosecutions slack and small — 
 
 As a young exhalation, newly waking. 
 Scorns his first bed of dirt, and means the sky, 
 
 But cooling by the way, grows pursie and slow, 
 And setling to a cloud, doth live and die 11 
 
 In that dark state of tears — to all that so 
 Show me and set me, I have one reply: 
 Which they that know the rest, know more then L 
 
186 VI. THE CRISIS 
 
 CONTENT 
 
 Peace mutt'ring thoughts, and do not grudge to 
 keep 
 
 Within the walls of your own breast. 
 Who cannot on his own bed sweetly sleep, 
 
 Can on another's hardly rest. 
 
 Gad not abroad at ev'ry quest and call 5 
 
 Of an untrained hope or passion. 
 
 To court each place or fortune that doth fall 
 Is wantonnesse in contemplation. 
 
 Mark how the fire in flints doth quiet lie, 
 
 Content and warm t' it self alone; 10 
 
 But when it would appeare to others' eye. 
 Without a knock it never shone. 
 
 Give me the pliant minde, whose gentle measure 
 Complies and suits with all estates; 
 
 Which can let loose to a crown, and yet with plea- 
 sure 15 
 Take up within a cloister's gates. 
 
VI. THE CRISIS 187 
 
 This soul doth span the world, and hang content 
 From either pole unto the centre; 
 
 Where in each room of the well-furnisht tent 19 
 He lies warm and without adventure. 
 
 The brags of life are but a nine dayes' wonder. 
 
 And after death the fumes that spring 
 From private bodies make as big a thunder 
 
 As those which rise from a huge King. 
 
 Onely thy Chronicle is lost; and yet 25 
 
 Better by worms be all once spent 
 
 Then to have hellish moths still gnaw and fret 
 Thy name in books, which may not rent: 
 
 When all thy deeds, whose brunt thou feel'st alone, 
 xALre chaw'd by others' pens and tongue; 
 
 And as their wit is, their digestion, 31 
 
 Thy nourisht fame is weak or strong. 
 
 Then cease discoursing, soul. Till thine own 
 ground. 
 
 Do not thy self or friends importune. 
 He that by seeking hath himself once found 35 
 
 Uath ever found a happie fortune. 
 
188 VI. THE CRISIS 
 
 VANITIE 
 
 PooRE silly soul, whose hope and head lies low, 
 Whose flat delights on earth do creep and grow, 
 To whom the starres shine not so fair as eyes, 
 Nor solid work as false embroyderies ; 
 Heark and beware, lest what you now do mea- 
 sure 5 
 And write for sweet, prove a most sowre displea- 
 sure. 
 O heare betimes, lest thy relenting 
 
 May come too late! 
 To purchase heaven for repenting 
 
 Is no hard rate. 10 
 
 If souls be made of earthly mold, 
 Let them love gold; 
 If born on high. 
 Let them unto their kindred flie. 
 For they can never be at rest 15 
 
 Till they regain their ancient nest. 
 Then silly soul take heed, for earthly joy 
 Is but a bubble and makes thee a boy. 
 
VI. THE CRISIS 189 
 
 FRAILTIE 
 
 Lord, in my silence how do I despise 
 
 What upon trust 
 Is styled honour^ riches, or fair eyes. 
 But is fair dust! 
 I surname them guilded clay, 5 
 
 Deare earth, fine grasse 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 simplenesse and sad events, 
 The other fine, 
 Full of glorie and gay weeds. 
 Brave language, braver deeds; 14 
 
 That which was dust before doth quickly rise. 
 And prick mine eyes. 
 
 O brook not this, lest if what even now 
 
 My foot did tread. 
 Affront those joyes wherewith thou didst endow 
 And long since wed 20 
 
 My poore soul, ev'n sick of love, 
 It may a Babel prove 
 Commodious to conquer heav'n and thee 
 Planted in me. 
 
190 VI. THE CRISIS 
 
 ARTILLERIE 
 
 As I one ev'ning sat before my cell, 
 
 Me thoughts a starre did shoot into my lap. 
 I rose and shook my clothes, as knowing well 
 That from small fires comes oft no small mishap. 
 When suddenly I heard one say, 5 
 
 Do as thou usest, disobey, 
 Expell good motions from thy breast 
 Which have the face of fire, but end in rest. 
 
 I, who had heard of musick in the spheres, 9 
 
 But not of speech in starres, began to muse. 
 But turning to my God, whose ministers 
 The starres and all things are, If I refuse, 
 Dread Lord, said I, so oft my good. 
 Then I refuse not ev'n with bloud 
 To wash away my stubborn thought; 15 
 
 For I will do or suffer what I ought. 
 
VI. THE CRISIS 191 
 
 But I have also starres and shooters too, 
 
 Born where thy servants both artilleries use. 
 My tears and prayers night and day do wooe 
 And work up to thee, yet thou dost refuse. 20 
 Not but I am (I must say still) 
 Much more oblig'd to do thy will 
 Then thou to grant mine, but because 
 Thy promise now hath ev'n set thee thy laws. 
 
 Then we are shooters both, and thou dost deigne 
 To enter combate with us and contest 26 
 
 With thine own clay. But 1 would parley fain. 
 Shunne not my arrows, and behold my breast. 
 Yet if thou shunnest, I am thine; 
 I must be so, if I am mine. 30 
 
 There is no articling with thee. 
 I am but finite, yet thine infinitely. 
 
192 VI. THE CRISIS 
 
 THE STARRE 
 
 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 debter. 
 And make it better. 
 
 First with thy fire-work bum to dust 
 
 Folly, and worse then folly, lust. 10 
 
 Then with thy light refine, 
 And make it shine: 
 
 So disengag'd from sinne and sicknesse, 
 Touch it with thy celestiall quicknesse, 
 
 That it may hang and move 15 
 
 After thy love. 
 
VI. THE CRISIS 193 
 
 Then with our trinitie of light, 
 
 Motion, and heat, let's take our jflight 
 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 dy'd to part 
 Sinne and my heart. 
 
 That so among the rest I may 25 
 
 Gutter, and curie, and winde as they; 
 That winding is their fashion 
 Of adoration. 
 
 Sure thou wilt joy, by gaining me, 
 
 To flie home hke a laden bee 30 
 
 Unto that hive of beams 
 And garland-streams. 
 
194 VI. THE CRISIS 
 
 DIALOGUE 
 
 Sweetest Saviour, if my soul 
 
 Were but worth the having, 
 Quickly should I then controll 
 
 Any thought of waving. 
 But when all my care and pains 5 
 
 Cannot give the name of gains 
 To thy wretch so full of stains, 
 What dehght or hope remains ? 
 
 What (childe) is the hallance thine. 
 
 Thine the poise and measure ? 10 
 
 // / say. Thou shalt he miney 
 Finger not my treasure. 
 
 What the gains in having thee 
 
 Do amount to, onely he 
 
 Who for man was sold can see, 15 
 
 That transferred th" accounts to me. 
 
VI. THE CRISIS 195 
 
 But as I can see no merit 
 
 Leading to this favour. 
 So the way to fit me for it 
 
 Is beyond my savour. 20 
 
 As the reason then is thine, 
 So the way is none of mine. 
 I disclaim the whole designe, 
 Sinne disclaims, and I resigne. 
 
 That is all, if that I could 25 
 
 Get without refining ; 
 And my clay, my creature, would 
 
 Follow my resigning. 
 That as I did freely part 
 With my glorie and desert, 30 
 
 Left all joyes to feel all smart — 
 
 Ah, no more ! Thou break'st my heart. 
 
196 VI. THE CRISIS 
 
 THE PRIESTHOOD 
 
 Blest Order, which in power dost so excell 
 
 That with th' one hand thou hftest to the sky, 
 
 And with the other throwest down to hell 
 
 In thy just censures; fain would I draw nigh. 
 
 Fain put thee on, exchanging my lay-sword 5 
 For that of th' holy word. 
 
 But thou art fire, sacred and hallow'd fire, 
 And I but earth and clay. Should I presume 
 
 To wear thy habit, the severe attire 
 
 My slender compositions might consume. 10 
 
 I am both foul and brittle, much unfit 
 To deal in holy Writ. 
 
 Yet have I often seen, by cunning hand 
 
 And force of fire, what curious things are made 
 
 Of wretched earth. Where once I scorn'd to stand. 
 That earth is fitted by the fire and trade 16 
 
 Of skilfull artists for the boards of those 
 
 Who make the bravest shows. 
 
VI. THE CRISIS 197 
 
 But since those great ones, be they ne're so great, 
 Come from the earth from whence those vessels 
 come ; 20 
 
 So that at once both feeder, dish, and meat 
 
 Have one beginning and one finall summe; 
 I do not greatly wonder at the sight. 
 
 If earth in earth delight. 
 
 But th' holy men of God such vessels are 25 
 
 As serve him up who all the world commands. 
 When God vouchsafeth to become our fare. 
 Their hands convey him who conveys their 
 hands. 
 O what pure things, most pure, must those things be 
 Who bring my God to me! 
 
 Wlierefore I dare not, I, put forth my hand 31 
 
 To hold the Ark, although it seem to shake 
 Through th' old sinnes and new doctrines of our 
 land. 
 Onely since God doth often vessels make 
 Of lowly matter for high uses meet, 35 
 
 I throw me at his feet. 
 
 There will I lie untill my Maker seek 
 
 For some mean stuff e whereon to show his skill. 
 
 ^hen is my time. The distance of the meek 39 
 Doth flatter power. Lest good come short of ill 
 
 In praising might, the poore do by submission 
 What pride by opposition. 
 
198 VI. THE CRISIS 
 
 PEACE 
 
 Sweet Peace, where dost thou dwell ? I humbly 
 crave 
 
 Let me once know. 
 I sought thee in a secret cave, 
 
 And ask'd if Peace were there. 
 A hollow winde did seem to answer. No: 5 
 
 Go seek elsewhere. 
 
 I did, and going did a rainbow note. 
 
 Surely, thought I, 
 This is the lace of Peace's coat, 
 
 I will search out the matter. 10 
 
 But while I lookt, the clouds immediately 
 Did break and scatter. 
 
 Then went I to a garden and did spy 
 A gallant flower. 
 The crown Imperiall. Sure, said I, 15 
 
 Peace at the root must dwell. 
 But when I digg'd, I saw a worm devoure 
 What show'd so well. 
 
VI. THE CRISIS 199 
 
 At length I met a rev'rend good old man, 
 
 Whom when for Peace 20 
 I did demand, he thus began: 
 There was a Prince of old 
 At Salem dwelt, who hv'd with good increase 
 Of flock and fold. 
 
 He sweetly liv'd, yet sweetnesse did not save 25 
 His life from foes. 
 But after death out of his grave 
 
 There sprang twelve stalks of wheat; 
 Which many wondring at, got some of those 
 
 To plant and set. 30 
 
 It prosper'd strangely and did soon disperse 
 Through all the earth; 
 For they that taste it do rehearse 
 That vertue lies therein, 
 A secret vertue bringing peace and mirth 35 
 
 By flight of sinne. 
 
 Take of this grain, which in my garden grows 
 And grows for you, 
 Make bread of it; and that repose 
 
 And peace which ev'rywhere 40 
 
 With so much earnestnesse you do pursue 
 Is onely there. 
 
200 VI. THE CRISIS 
 
 THE PEARL 
 
 (MATTHEW XIII, 45) 
 
 I KNOW the wayes of learning, both the head 
 
 And pipes that feed the presse, and make it 
 runne ; 
 What reason hath from nature borrowed, 
 
 Or of it self, like a good huswife, spunne 4 
 In laws and policie; what the starres conspire; 
 What willing nature speaks, what forc'd by fire; 
 
 Both th' old discoveries and the new-found seas, 
 The stock and surplus, cause and historic; 
 
 All these stand open, or I have the keyes; 
 
 Yet I love thee. 10 
 
 I know the wayes of honour, what maintains 
 
 The quick returns of courtesie and wit; 
 In vies of favours whether partie gains 
 
 When glorie swells the heart, and moldeth it 
 To all expressions both of hand and eye, 15 
 
 Which on the world a true-love-knot may tie, 
 
 And bear the bundle wheresoe're it goes; 
 How many drammes of spirit there must be 
 
 To sell my life unto my friends or foes; 
 
 Yet I love thee. 20 
 
VI. THE CRISIS 201 
 
 I know the wayes of pleasure, the sweet strains. 
 
 The luUings and the reHshes of it; 
 The propositions of hot bloud and brains; 
 
 What mirth and musick mean ; what love and mt 
 Have done these twentie hundred yeares and more; 
 I know the projects of unbridled store; 26 
 
 My stuffe is flesh, not brasse; my senses live, 
 And grumble oft that they have more in me 
 
 Then he that curbs them, being but one to five; 
 Yet I love thee. 30 
 
 I know all these and have them in my hand; 
 
 Therefore not sealed but with open eyes 
 I flie to thee, and fully understand 
 
 Both the main sale and the commodities; 
 And at what rate and price I have thy love, 35 
 With all the circumstances that may move. 
 
 Yet through the labyrinths, not my groveling wit. 
 But thy silk twist let down from heav'n to me 
 
 Did both conduct and teach me how by it 
 
 To climbe to thee. 40 
 
202 VI. THE CRISIS 
 
 OBEDIENCE 
 
 My God, if writings may 
 Convey a Lordship any way 
 Whither the buyer and the seller please. 
 Let it not thee displease 
 If this poore paper do as much as they. 5 
 
 On it my heart doth bleed 
 As many lines as there doth need 
 To passe it self and all it hath to thee; 
 To which I do agree, 
 And here present it as my speciall deed. IC 
 
 If that hereafter Pleasure 
 Cavill, and claim her part and measure, 
 As if this passed with a reservation. 
 
 Or some such words in fashion, 14 
 
 I here exclude the wrangler from thy treasure. 
 
 O let thy sacred will 
 All thy delight in me fulfill! 
 Let me not think an action mine own way, 
 But as thy love shall sway. 
 Resigning up the rudder to thy skill. 20 
 
VI. THE CRISIS 203 
 
 Lord, what is man to thee, 
 That thou shouldst minde a rotten tree ? 
 Yet since thou canst not choose but see my actions, 
 So great are thy perfections, 24 
 
 Thou mayst as well my actions guide, as see. 
 
 Besides, thy death and bloud 
 Show'd a strange love to all our good. 
 Thy sorrows were in earnest; no faint proffer, 
 
 Or superficiall offer 29 
 
 Of what we might not take, or be withstood. 
 
 Wherefore I all forego. 
 To one word onely I say. No: 
 Where in the deed there was an intimation 
 Of a gijt or donation^ 
 Lord, let it now by way of purchase go. 35 
 
 He that will passe his land, 
 As I have mine, may set his hand 
 And heart unto this deed, when he hath read. 
 And make the purchase spread 
 To both our goods, if he to it will stand. 40 
 
 How happie were my part 
 If some kinde man would thrust his heart 
 Into these Hues; till in heav'ns court of rolls 
 They were by winged souls 
 Entred for both, farre above their desert! 45 
 
204 VI. THE CRISIS 
 
 THE ROSE 
 
 pRESSE me not to take more pleasure 
 In tliis world of sugred lies, 
 
 And to use a larger measure 
 
 Then my strict, yet welcome size. 
 
 First, there is no pleasure here; 6 
 
 Colour' d griefs indeed there are. 
 
 Blushing woes, that look as cleare 
 As if they could beautie spare. 
 
 Or if such deceits there be. 
 
 Such dehghts I meant to say, 10 
 
 There are no such things to me. 
 
 Who have pass'd my right away. 
 
 But I will not much oppose 
 
 Unto what you now advise, 
 
 Onely take this gentle rose, 15 
 
 And therein my answer hes. 
 
VI. THE CRISIS 205 
 
 What is fairer then a rose ? 
 
 What is sweeter ? Yet it purgeth. 
 Purgings enmitie disclose, 
 
 Enmitie forbearance urgeth. 20 
 
 If then all that worldlings prize 
 
 Be contracted to a rose. 
 Sweetly there indeed it Hes, 
 
 But it biteth in the close. 
 
 So this flower doth judge and sentence 25 
 Worldly joyes to be a scourge; 
 
 For they all produce repentance, 
 And repentance is a purge. 
 
 But I health, not physick choose. 
 
 Onely though I you oppose, 30 
 
 Say that fairly I refuse. 
 
 For my answer is a rose. 
 
206 VI. THE CRISIS 
 
 AN OFFERING 
 
 Come, bring thy gift. If blessings were as slow 
 As men's returns, what would become of fools ? 
 What hast thou there ? A heart ? But is it 
 pure? 
 Search well and see, for hearts have many holes. 
 Yet one pure heart is nothing to bestow. 5 
 
 In Christ two natures met to be thy cure. 
 
 O that within us hearts had propagation, 
 Since many gifts do challenge many hearts! 
 
 Yet one, if good, may title to a number. 
 And single things grow fruitfull by deserts. 10 
 In publick judgements one may be a nation 
 
 And fence a plague, while others sleep and 
 slumber. 
 
 But all I fear is lest thy heart displease. 
 As neither good nor one. So oft divisions 
 
 Thy lusts have made, and not thy lusts alone ; 
 Thy passions also have their set partitions. 16 
 These parcell out thy heart. Recover these. 
 And thou mayst offer many gifts in one. 
 
VI. THE CRISIS 207 
 
 There is a balsome, or indeed a bloud, 
 
 Dropping from heav'n, which doth both cleanse 
 and close 20 
 
 All sorts of wounds; of such strange force 
 it is. 
 Seek out this All-heal, and seek no repose 
 Untill thou finde and use it to thy good. 
 
 Then bring thy gift, and let thy hymne be 
 this: 
 
 Since my sadnesse 25 
 
 Into gladnesse 
 Lord thou dost convert, 
 
 O accept 
 
 What thou hast kept, 
 As thy due desert. 30 
 
 Had I many, 
 
 Had I any, 
 (For this heart is none) 
 
 All were thine 
 
 And none of mine, 35 
 
 Surely thine alone. 
 
 Yet thy favour 
 
 May give savour 
 To this poore oblation; 
 
 And it raise 40 
 
 To be thy praise, 
 And be my salvation. 
 
VI. THE CRISIS 
 
 PRAISE 
 
 King of Glorie, King of Peace, 
 
 I will love thee. 
 And that love may never cease 
 
 I will move thee. 
 
 Thou hast granted my request, 5 
 
 Thou hast heard me. 
 
 Thou didst note my working breast. 
 Thou hast spar'd me. 
 
 Wherefore with my utmost art 
 
 I will sing thee. 10 
 
 And the cream of all my heart 
 
 I will bring thee. 
 
 Though my sinnes against me cried. 
 Thou didst cleare me. 
 
 And alone, when they replied, 15 
 
 Thou didst heare me. 
 
VI. THE CRISIS 
 
 Sev'n whole dayes, not one in seven, 
 
 I will praise thee. 
 In my heart, though not in heaven, 
 
 I can raise thee. 20 
 
 Thou grew'st soft and moist with tears. 
 
 Thou relentedst; 
 And when Justice call'd for fears 
 
 Thou dissentedst. 
 
 Small it is in this poore sort 25 
 
 To enroll thee. 
 Ev'n eternitie is too short 
 
 To extoll thee. 
 
210 VI. THE CRISIS 
 
 LOVE 
 
 Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back, 
 Guiltie of dust and sinne. 
 
 But quick-ey'd Love, observing me grow slack 
 From my first entrance in. 
 
 Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning 5 
 
 If I lack'd any thing. 
 
 A guest, I answered, worthy to be here. 
 
 Love said, You shall be he. 
 I, the unkinde, ungratefull ? Ah my deare, 
 
 I cannot look on thee. 10 
 
 Love took my hand and smiling did reply, 
 
 Who made the eyes but I ? 
 
 Truth Lord, but I have marr'd them; let my 
 shame 
 
 Go where it doth deserve. 
 And know you not, sayes Love, who bore the 
 blame? 15 
 
 My deare, then I will serve. 
 You must sit down, sayes Love, and taste my 
 meat. 
 
 So I did sit and eat. 
 
VII 
 THE HAPPY PRIEST 
 
PREFACE 
 
 WITH this Group begins the last and briefest 
 period of Herbert's Hfe, a period remark- 
 able for its productivity. It extends from his com- 
 ing to Bemerton in 1630 to his death in 1633. In it 
 The Country Parson was written and most of 
 the eighty-six poems which here follow. No poem 
 printed in Groups VII-XI is found in the Wilhams 
 Manuscript, which I have elsewhere shown to have 
 been probably drawn up about 1628. Some of 
 these poems may proceed from the last years of 
 the Crisis, but as they contain no reference to the 
 struggle there described, I have not included them 
 in that Group. Some, especially among those 
 printed under the heading Bemerton Study, were 
 probably written at least in part during the Cam- 
 bridge years, and then, either by accident or de- 
 sign, were not copied into the manuscript lent to 
 Ferrar in 1627-9. But substantially the poems of 
 these five Groups are Bemerton poems. Their 
 omission from the Williams Manuscript is prima 
 facie evidence of date. Nearly all of them, outside 
 Group VIII, contain allusions to the priestly 
 character of the writer. Emotional depth and 
 individual experience will be found in them to 
 a degree unknown in the Cambridge period, and 
 
214 PREFACE TO 
 
 they very generally look back to a past different 
 from that in which their author is now living. 
 
 The beginning of the Bemerton life brought to 
 Herbert a joyful sense of attainment. The hopes 
 of many years seemed now about to be realized. 
 The great deed was done. He was no longer cum- 
 bered with political, social, or scholarly ties. He 
 and God were to be alone, and his one interest 
 henceforth was to be the priestly office. He set 
 himself with characteristic system to search out all 
 the subtle significance which his present tasks 
 might contain. His life should be as intellectually 
 ordered, as coherent, as beautiful, as compact with 
 rich suggestion, as his verse had been before. He 
 codified his work ; he studied from day to day 
 what were the best ways of performing each petty 
 portion of his stately office. 
 
 Walton gives a long account of Herbert's elabo- 
 rate rationalization of the English ritual. This ac- 
 count is on its face open to doubt. How much of 
 it proceeds from Herbert's mind, and how much 
 from Walton's, is not clear. Walton had no ac- 
 quaintance with Herbert, and this argumentative 
 piece of history was written long after Herbert's 
 death. Walton's Life, like that by Oley, was ob- 
 viously intended to serve the useful purpose of an 
 Anti-Puritan tract. But after all deductions, the 
 argumentation seems well in keeping with Her- 
 bert's general temper. It is ever his way to make 
 the most of what he finds at hand. He asks few 
 
THE HAPPY PRIEST 215 
 
 ultimate questions, but turns all that tradition 
 hands down to him into something rich and mean- 
 ingful. Throughout this account he justifies the 
 services of his Church because of their reasonable- 
 ness, and not because they are authoritatively pre- 
 scribed; and this is his method in his poems and 
 The Country Parson. There, as here, he grounds 
 the practices of the collective Church on the needs 
 of the individual soul. On the whole, then, I be- 
 lieve Walton's pages on ritual may be accepted as 
 a fair account of Herbert's disposition during the 
 Bemerton years. He tried to bring into action and 
 fill with ingenious, independent, and reverent in- 
 telligence all the resources of his little world. By 
 this poetic development of ritual he sought to do 
 for his people what he was at the same time doing 
 for himself in The Country Parson. He "made 
 it appear to them that the whole Service of the 
 Church was a reasonable, and therefore an accept- 
 able. Sacrifice to God." Always to his mind the 
 way to render life glorious was to stuff every por- 
 tion of it with thought, and delightedly to detect 
 compacted reason where the dull mind contents 
 itself with seeing only plain fact. 
 
 The present Group of poems is the expression of 
 exuberant joy in at last reaching a long hoped for 
 good. Few other Groups have so lyric a quality. 
 After some study of the conditions of the priest- 
 hood, he sees that these are all summed up in the 
 priest's abandonment of everything that can be 
 
216 PREFACE 
 
 called his own, and in his full absorption into the 
 life of his Master. Such union, the realization of 
 thoughts of love which had possessed him for 
 many years, throws him into an intellectual ecstasy, 
 and song after song is poured out expressing his 
 delight. The ordinances of the Church, especially 
 those connected with the Holy Supper, get a new 
 meaning. The closing day is sacramental, and all 
 the world resounds with God's praise. 
 
VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 217 
 
 THE CALL 
 
 Come, my Way, my Truth, my Life: 
 
 Such a Way as gives us breath. 
 Such a Truth as ends all strife, 
 
 Such a Life as killeth death. 
 
 Come, my Light, my Feast, my Strength: 5 
 
 Such a Light as shows a feast. 
 Such a Feast as mends in length. 
 
 Such a Strength as makes his guest. 
 
 Come, my Joy, my Love, my Heart: 
 
 Such a Joy as none can move, 10 
 
 Such a Love as none can part. 
 Such a Heart as joyes in love. 
 
218 VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 
 
 AARON 
 
 HoLiNESSE on the head, 
 Light and perfections on the breast, 
 Harmonious bells below, raising the dead 
 To leade them unto life and rest; 
 
 Thus are true Aarons drest. 5 
 
 Profanenesse in my head. 
 Defects and darknesse in my breast, 
 A noise of passions ringing me for dead 
 Unto a place where is no rest; 
 
 Poore priest thus am I drest. 10 
 
VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 219 
 
 Onely another head 
 I have, another heart and breast, 
 Another musick, making live not dead, 
 Without whom I could have no rest; 
 
 In him I am well drest. 15 
 
 Christ is my onely head, 
 My alone onely heart and breast, 
 My onely musick, striking me ev'n dead, 
 That to the old man I may rest, 
 
 And be in him new drest. 20 
 
 So holy in my head. 
 Perfect and Hght in my deare breast, 
 My doctrine tun'd by Christ, (who is not dead, 
 But lives in me while I do rest,) 
 
 Come people! Aaron's drest. 25 
 
VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 
 
 THE WINDOWS 
 
 Lord, how can man preach thy etemall word? 
 He is a brittle crazie glasse, 
 
 Yet in thy temple thou dost him afford 
 
 This glorious and transcendent place 
 To be a window, through thy grace. 5 
 
 But when thou dost anneal in glasse thy storie, 
 
 Making thy hfe to shine within 
 The holy Preachers, then the light and glorie 
 
 More rev'rend grows, and more doth 
 
 win; 
 Which else shows watrish, bleak, and 
 thin. 10 
 
 Doctrine and life, colours and light, in one 
 
 When they combine and mingle, bring 
 
 A strong regard and aw; but speech alone 
 Doth vanish like a flaring thing. 
 And in the eare, not conscience ring. 15 
 
VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 221 
 
 THE HOLDFAST 
 
 I THREATNED to observe the strict decree 
 
 Of my deare God with all my power and 
 might. 
 But I was told by one it could not be, 
 
 Yet I might trust in God to be my light. 
 Then will I trust, said I, in him alone. 5 
 
 Nay, ev'n to trust in him was also his; 
 We must confesse that nothing is our own. 
 
 Then I confesse that he my succour is. 
 But to have nought is ours, not to confesse 
 
 That we have nought. I stood amaz'd at 
 this, 10 
 
 Much troubled, till I heard a friend expresse 
 
 That all things were more ours by being his. 
 What Adam had, and forfeited for all, 
 Christ keepeth now, who cannot fail or fall. 
 
222 VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 
 
 THE 23 PSALME 
 
 The God of love my shepherd is. 
 
 And he that doth me feed. 
 While he is mine and I am his, 
 
 What can I want or need? 
 
 He leads me to the tender grasse, 5 
 
 Where I both feed and rest. 
 
 Then to the streams that gently passe; 
 In both I have the best. 
 
 Or if I stray, he doth convert 
 
 And bring my minde in frame. 10 
 
 And all this not for my desert. 
 
 But for his holy name. 
 
 Yea, in death's shadie black abode 
 
 Well may I walk, not fear; 
 For thou art with me, and thy rod 15 
 
 To guide, thy staffe to bear. 
 
 Nay, thou dost make me sit and dine 
 
 Ev'n in my enemies' sight. 
 My head with oyl, my cup with wine 
 
 Runnes over day and night. 20 
 
 Surely thy sweet and wondrous love 
 Shall measure all my dayes; 
 
 And as it never shall remove. 
 So neither shall my praise. 
 
VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 223 
 
 THE ODOUR 
 
 (2 CORINTHIANS II, 15) 
 
 How sweetly doth My Master sound! My Mas- 
 ter ! 
 As Amber-greese leaves a rich sent 
 
 Unto the taster, 
 So do these words a sweet content, 
 An orientall fragrancie. My Master. 5 
 
 With these all day I do perfume my minde. 
 
 My minde ev'n thrust into them both, 
 
 That I might finde 
 What cordials make this curious broth. 
 
 This broth of smells, that feeds and fats my minde. 
 
 ilf?/ ilfa^ier, shall I speak ? O that to thee 11 
 My servant were a little so. 
 
 As flesh may be, 
 That these two words might creep and 
 grow 
 To some degree of spicinesse to thee! 15 
 
^^ VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 
 
 Then should the Pomander, which was before 
 A speaking sweet, mend by reflection 
 
 And tell me more; 
 For pardon of my imperfection 19 
 
 Would warm and work it sweeter then before. 
 
 For when My Master, which alone is sweet 
 
 And ev'n in my -unworthinesse pleasing. 
 
 Shall call and meet 
 My servant, as thee not displeasing. 
 
 That call is but the breathing of the sweet. 25 
 
 This breathing would with gains by sweetning me 
 (As sweet things traffick when they meet) 
 
 Return to thee; 
 And so this new commerce and sweet 
 
 Should all my hfe employ and busie me. 30 
 
VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 225 
 
 A TRUE HYMNE 
 
 My joy, my life, my crown! 
 My heart was meaning all the day 
 
 Somewhat it fain would say; 
 And still it runneth mutt'ring up and down 
 With onely this. My joy, my lije, my crown. 5 
 
 Yet slight not these few words. 
 If truly said, they may take part 
 Among the best in art. 
 The finenesse which a hymne or psalme affords 
 Is when the soul unto the Hues accords. 10 
 
 He who craves all the minde. 
 And all the soul, and strength, and time. 
 
 If the words onely ryme, 
 Justly complains that somewhat is behinde 
 To make his verse, or write a hymne in kinde. 
 
 Whereas if th' heart be moved, 16 
 
 Although the verse be somewhat scant, 
 God doth supphe the want. 
 As when th' heart sayes (sighing to be approved) 
 O, could I love I and stops: God writeth, Loved. 
 
VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 
 
 THE POSIE 
 
 Let wits contest, 
 And with their words and posies windows fill. 
 
 Lesse then the least 
 Of all thy mercies, is my posie still. 
 
 This on my ring, 6 
 
 This by my picture, in my book I write. 
 
 Whether I sing, 
 Or say, or dictate, this is my delight. 
 
 Invention rest, 
 Comparisons go play, wit use thy will. 10 
 
 Lesse then the least 
 Of all God's mercies, is my posie still. 
 
VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 227 
 
 THE QUIP 
 
 The merrie world did on a day 
 
 With his train-bands and mates agree 
 
 To meet together where I lay, 
 And all in sport to geere at me. 
 
 First, Beautie crept into a rose; 6 
 
 Which when I pluckt not, Sir, said she, 
 
 Tell me, I pray, whose hands are those ? 
 But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me. 
 
 Then Money came, and chinking still. 
 
 What tune is this, poore man ? said he, 10 
 
 I heard in Musick you had skill. 
 
 But thou shalt answer. Lord, for me. 
 
VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 
 
 Then came brave Glorie puffing by 
 In silks that whistled, who but he ? 
 
 He scarce allow'd me half an eie. 15 
 
 But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me. 
 
 Then came quick Wit and Conversation, 
 And he would needs a comfort be, 
 
 And, to be short, make an oration. 
 
 But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me. 20 
 
 Yet when the houre of thy designe 
 
 To answer these fine things shall come. 
 
 Speak not at large, say, I am thine; 
 And then they have their answer home. 
 
VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 229 
 
 CLASPING OF HANDS 
 
 Lord, thou art mine, and I am thine, 
 
 If mine I am; and thine much more 
 Then I or ought or can be mine. 
 
 Yet to be thine doth me restore ; 
 So that again I now am mine, 5 
 
 And with advantage mine the more. 
 Since this being mine brings with it thine, 
 
 And thou with me dost thee restore. 
 If I without thee w^ould be mine, 
 I neither should be mine nor thine. 10 
 
 Lord, I am thine, and thou art mine; 
 
 So mine thou art that something more 
 I may presume thee mine then thine. 
 
 For thou didst suffer to restore 
 Not thee, but me, and to be mine, 15 
 
 And with advantage mine the more. 
 Since thou in death wast none of thine, 
 
 Yet then as mine didst me restore. 
 O be mine still! Still make me thine! 
 Or rather make no Thine and Mine! 
 
230 VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 
 
 PARADISE 
 
 I BLESSE thee, Lord, because I grow 
 Among thy trees, which in a row 
 To thee both fruit and order ow. 
 
 What open force or hidden charm 
 
 Can blast my fruit, or bring me harm, 5 
 
 While the inclosure is thine arm? 
 
 Inclose me still for fear I start. 
 Be to me rather sharp and tart 
 Then let me want thy hand and art. 9 
 
 When thou dost greater judgements spare. 
 And with thy knife but prune and pare, 
 Ev'n fruitfuU trees more fruitfull are. 
 
 Such sharpnes shows the sweetest frend, 
 
 Such cuttings rather heal then rend. 
 
 And such beginnings touch their end. 15 
 
VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 231 
 
 GRATEFULNESSE 
 
 Thou that hast giv'n so much to me, 
 
 Give one thing more, a gratefull heart. 
 See how thy beggar works on thee 
 
 By art. 
 
 He makes thy gifts occasion more, 5 
 
 And sayes. If he in this be crost, 
 All thou hast giv'n him heretofore 
 
 Is lost. 
 
 But thou didst reckon, when at first 
 
 Thy word our hearts and hands did crave, 
 What it would come to at the worst 11 
 
 To save: 
 
 Perpetuall knockings at thy doore. 
 
 Tears sullying thy transparent rooms, 
 Gift upon gift, much would have more, 15 
 
 And comes. 
 
VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 
 
 This notwithstanding, thou wentst on 
 
 And didst allow us all our noise. 
 Nay, thou hast made a sigh and grone 
 
 Thy joyes. 20 
 
 Not that thou hast not still above 
 
 Much better tunes then grones can make. 
 But that these countrey-aires thy love 
 
 Did take. 
 
 Wherefore I crie and crie again, 25 
 
 And in no quiet canst thou be 
 Till I a thankfull heart obtain 
 
 Of thee. 
 
 Not thankfull when it pleaseth me; 
 
 As if thy blessings had spare dayes, 30 
 But such a heart whose pulse may be 
 
 Thy praise. 
 
VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 233 
 
 PRAISE 
 
 Lord, I will mean and speak thy praise, 
 Thy praise alone. 
 My busie heart shall spin it all my dayes; 
 
 And when it stops for want of store, 
 Then will I wring it with a sigh or grone, 5 
 
 That thou mayst yet have more. 
 
 When thou dost favour any action, 
 It runnes, it flies; 
 All things concur re to give it a perfection. 
 
 That which had but two legs before, 10 
 
 When thou dost blesse, hath twelve. One wheel 
 doth rise 
 
 To twentie then, or more. 
 
 But when thou dost on businesse blow. 
 It hangs, it clogs; 
 Not all the teams of Albion in a row 15 
 
 Can hale or draw it out of doore. 
 Legs are but stumps, and Pharaoh's wheels but 
 logs. 
 
 And struggling hinders more. 
 
234 VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 
 
 Thousands of things do thee employ 
 
 In ruling all 20 
 
 This spacious globe: Angels must have their joy, 
 
 Devils their rod, the sea his shore. 
 The windes their stint. And yet when I did call, 
 Thou heardst my call, and more. 
 
 I have not lost one single tear. 25 
 
 But when mine eyes 
 Did weep to heav'n, they found a bottle there 
 
 (As we have boxes for the poore) 
 Readie to take them in; yet of a size 
 
 That would contain much more. 30 
 
 But after thou hadst slipt a drop 
 From thy right eye, 
 (Which there did hang like streamers neare the 
 top 
 Of some fair church, to show the sore 
 And bloudie battell which thou once didst trie) 35 
 The glasse was full and more. 
 
 Wherefore I sing. Yet since my heart. 
 
 Though press'd, runnes thin, 
 O that I might some other hearts convert. 
 
 And so take up at use good store; 40 
 
 That to thy chests there might be coming in 
 Both all my praise and more! 
 
VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 235 
 
 THE INVITATION 
 
 Come ye hither all whose taste 
 Is your waste. 
 
 Save your cost and mend your fare. 
 
 God is here prepar'd and drest. 
 
 And the feast, 5 
 
 God, in whom all dainties are. 
 
 Come ye hither all whom wine 
 Doth define. 
 
 Naming you not to your good. 
 
 Weep what ye have drunk amisse, 10 
 And drink this. 
 
 Which before ye drink is bloud. 
 
 Come ye hither all whom pain 
 
 Doth arraigne. 
 
 Bringing all your sinnes to sight. 15 
 
 Taste and fear not. God is here 
 In this cheer, 
 
 And on sinne doth cast the fright.^ 
 
^36 VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 
 
 Come ye hither all whom joy 
 
 Doth destroy, 20 
 
 While ye graze without your bounds. 
 Here is joy that drowneth quite 
 
 Your delight, 
 As a floud the lower grounds. 
 
 Come ye hither all whose love 25 
 
 Is your dove. 
 
 And exalts you to the skie. 
 
 Here is love which, having breath 
 Ev'n in death, 
 
 After death can never die. 30 
 
 Lord I have invited all, 
 
 And I shall 
 Still invite, still call to thee. 
 For it seems but just and right 
 
 In my sight, 35 
 
 Where is all, there all should be. 
 
VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 
 
 THE BANQUET 
 
 Welcome sweet and sacred cheer, 
 
 Welcome deare! 
 
 With me, in me, hve and dwell; 
 
 For thy neatnesse passeth sight. 
 
 Thy deUght 5 
 
 Passeth tongue to taste or tell. 
 
 O what sweetnesse from the bowl 
 Fills my soul. 
 
 Such as is and makes divine! 
 
 Is some starre (fled from the sphere) 10 
 Melted there. 
 
 As we sugar melt in wine ? 
 
 Or hath sweetnesse in the bread 
 Made a head 
 
 To subdue the smell of sinne; 15 
 
 Flowers, and gummes, and powders giving 
 All their Hving, 
 
 Lest the enemie should winne ? 
 
238 VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 
 
 Doubtlesse neither starre nor flower 
 
 Hath the power 20 
 
 Such a sweetnesse to impart, 
 
 Onely God, who gives perfumes, 
 
 Flesh assumes, 
 
 And with it perfumes my heart. 
 
 But as Pomanders and wood 25 
 
 Still are good. 
 
 Yet being bruis'd are better sented, 
 
 God to show how farre his love 
 
 Could improve, 
 
 Here, as broken, is presented. 30 
 
 When I had forgot my birth, 
 
 And on earth 
 
 In delights of earth was drown'd, 
 
 God took bloud and needs would be 
 
 Spilt with me, 35 
 
 And so found me on the ground. 
 
VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 
 
 Having rais'd me to look up, 
 
 In a cup 
 Sweetly he doth meet my taste. 
 But I still being low and short, 40 
 
 Farre from court. 
 Wine becomes a wing at last. 
 
 For with it alone I flie 
 
 To the skie; 
 
 Where I wipe mine eyes, and see 45 
 
 What I seek, for what I sue. 
 
 Him I view 
 
 Who hath done so much for me. 
 
 Let the wonder of this pitie 
 
 Be my dittie, 50 
 And take up my lines and life. 
 Hearken, under pain of death. 
 
 Hands and breath, 
 Strive in this and love the strife. 
 
240 VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 
 
 EVEN-SONG 
 
 Blest be the God of love, 
 Wlio 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, 6 
 
 .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 10 
 Which this dayes 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, 15 
 But balls of wilde-fire to my troubled minde. 
 
VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 241 
 
 Yet still thou goest on, 
 And now with darknesse closest wearie eyes, 
 Saying to man, It doth suffice. 
 Henceforth repose. Your work is done. 20 
 
 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, 25 
 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. 31 
 
 And in this love, more then in bed, I rest. 
 
242 VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 
 
 ANTIPHON 
 
 Cho. Let all the world in ev'ry corner sing. 
 My God and King. 
 
 Vers. The heav'ns are not too high, 
 His praise may thither flie. 
 The earth is not too low, 5 
 
 His praises there may grow. 
 
 Cho. Let all the world in ev'ry comer sing. 
 My God and King. 
 
 Vers. The church with psalms must shout. 
 No doore can keep them out. 10 
 
 But above all, the heart 
 Must bear the longest part. 
 
 Cho. Let all the world in ev'ry corner sing, 
 My God and King. 
 
VIII 
 BEMERTON STUDY 
 
PREFACE 
 
 MANY persons find the reflective poetry of 
 Herbert the most agreeable portion of The 
 Temple. The more personal poems call for larger 
 historical and artistic imagination than most of 
 us care to supply. To reconstruct their reality 
 we must project ourselves into conditions of mind 
 which belong to a bygone age ; and few are willing, 
 or even able, to detach themselves from their own 
 time and feel the humanity in types of emotion 
 which look fictitious because unfamiliar. Or if 
 we take the very probable view that in these poems, 
 as in Shakespeare's or Sidney's Sonnets, art is as 
 much concerned as emotion, the chance that Her- 
 bert's eager songs will be understood becomes 
 more slender still. For art is little known or hon- 
 ored among us. It interests but few to see a feeling 
 taking its rise in some experience of a poet, then 
 purged of whatever checks its coherence, and 
 gradually furnished with all that can lend it ful- 
 ness and precision, until it finally comes forth pal- 
 pitating with fresh and irresponsible life, and ex- 
 hibits with a completeness not otherwise possible 
 an isolated section of the complex soul of man. 
 Indeed, busy and matter-of-fact folk are disposed 
 to suspect falsehood in anything which bears the 
 
246 PREFACE TO 
 
 marks of art, and to count only those emotions 
 genuine which are poured out with the sponta- 
 neous disorderUness of nature. AVhere such instinc- 
 tive presuppositions exist, the subtle adjustments 
 and intricate accords by means of which Herbert 
 idealizes passions which to-day are but slightly 
 felt will to a considerable extent remove his per- 
 sonal poems from sympathy. Work which charms 
 the lover of exquisite art, and beautiful records of 
 earlier habits of mind which fascinate the imagi- 
 native student of spiritual history, will be easily 
 discarded as artificial and full of conceits. 
 
 But even then the reflective poetry of Herbert 
 remains. Art is not usually felt to be a disturber 
 of meditation, but rather to be required in utter- 
 ances of profound thought. Herbert's intellectual 
 verse has accordingly been prized by many who 
 have regarded his emotional with something like 
 contempt. I do not myself think the two kinds can 
 be fully parted. Herbert puts passion into every- 
 thing, and everything he rationalizes. Yet I have 
 thought I might render him more accessible to all 
 tastes if here among the Bemerton poems, as pre- 
 viously among those of the Cambridge years, I place 
 in a special Group those which are least marked 
 by the personal note. Here stand the compact 
 pieces of wisdom which were shaped in the Wilt- 
 shire study. Some of them may have been brought 
 over half -finished from Cambridge, Dauntsey, or 
 Baynton. But in Bemerton they received their 
 
BEMERTON STUDY 247 
 
 final form, and they appear only in the manuscript 
 of Herbert's later years. 
 
 In this more abstract and contemplative species 
 of verse Herbert is able to exhibit with fullest ad- 
 vantage one of his chief literary merits, I mean his 
 power to charge a few common words with more 
 meaning than they easily carry. The phrase 
 strains; the thought obtrudes beyond the words. 
 By audacity of diction Herbert forces his reader — 
 his energetic reader — to approach at some strange 
 angle new aspects of old truths. We all know the 
 aphoristic force of the Elizabethan and Jacobean 
 poets. They were no mere epigrammatists, like 
 the Queen Anne's men. They cared nothing for 
 propriety, and kept their thoughts on things rather 
 than on words. But nobody has ever been able to 
 fashion a phrase with greater certainty that it will 
 stick in the mind which it once enters. In this 
 penetrative power Herbert stands among the fore- 
 most of his age. Few poets are more quotable. He 
 abounds in those " jewels five words long wliich 
 on the stretched forefinger of all time sparkle 
 forever." Yet his sententious power is not satis- 
 fied with creating scattered phrases ; these are but 
 the material out of which a pathetic, gay, or saga- 
 cious whole is firmly fashioned. The general in- 
 tellectual tone appropriate to each poem is to 
 Herbert's mind a matter of much consequence, 
 and the phrasing which would enter fitly into one 
 is not allowed to disturb the poise of another. 
 
248 PREFACE TO 
 
 Let any reader compare Peace and Dotage, 
 CoNSTANCiE and The Bag, or either of these 
 with Vanitie or Vertue, and he will see how 
 harmoniously selective is Herbert's craftsmanship, 
 how free he is from anything like a single fixed 
 style. All this is less felt because without special 
 training on the reader's part Herbert is difficult 
 to follow. He moves at great speed through strange 
 and tangled regions. He loves "by indirection to 
 find direction out." He does not concern himself 
 with his reader, but with getting his own mind 
 completely delivered. 
 
 I have set at the head of this Group Herbert's 
 profoundest philosophic study. Providence. The 
 first impression it will give is that it is queer. Cer- 
 tain lines will seem positively comic. I do not 
 think this fact would have disturbed Herbert, or 
 have brought him to admit the need of change, 
 any more than similar facts in the poetry of Words- 
 worth, Browning, and Emerson ever worried those 
 explorers of the human soul. Such poets write 
 for themselves, and merely allow other men to 
 listen while they think. Providence is a mas- 
 terly survey of a closely ordered universe which 
 culminates in man. While lacking modern scien- 
 tific equipment, trusting too to Aristotelic methods 
 more than would to-day be generally approved, 
 and consequently often mistaking small things for 
 great, Herbert shows a keenness of observation, 
 an ability to group together similar but outwardly 
 
BEMERTON STUDY 249 
 
 unlike facts, and a prevision even of modern 
 evolutional points of view, which prove him to have 
 been a man of real grasp in subjects lying outside 
 his special religious themes. The wording is strong 
 throughout, in parts rising to an easy majesty not 
 reached by him elsewhere. 
 
 After Providence I place discussions of several 
 features of the Church and its partially detached 
 members, which lead to consideration of the dif- 
 ferences between the Biblical Church and our 
 own. CoNSTANCiE and The Foil show how un- 
 shakable a man may become through righteous- 
 ness; and then his complex and vacillating nature 
 is shown in Man's Medley, Giddinesse, Van- 
 iTiE, Dotage, Businesse, Sinnes Round, and 
 The Water-Course. The pessimistic view of 
 man's condition is a favorite with Herbert both 
 on religious and poetic grounds. It shows the need 
 of Atonement, and lends itself to decidedly pic- 
 turesque treatment. The Pulley and Marie 
 Magdalene point out our way of delivery from 
 restlessness. The Passion of our Lord is set forth 
 in several poems which from style I should sup- 
 pose to be written early, but which are not in- 
 cluded in the Williams Manuscript. At the end 
 of the Group I have placed half-a-dozen trifles in 
 which the fancy of Herbert plays sweetly with its 
 own ingenuities. 
 
250 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 
 
 AN INSCRIPTION 
 TO MY SUCCESSOR 
 
 If thou chance for to find 
 A new House to thy mind, 
 
 And built without thy Cost, 
 Be good to the Poor, 
 As God gives thee store, 
 
 And then my Labour's not lost. 
 
VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 251 
 
 PROVIDENCE 
 
 O SACRED Providence, who from end to end 
 Strongly and sweetly movest! Shall I write, 
 
 And not of thee through whom my fingers bend 
 To hold my quill ? Shall they not do thee right ? 
 
 Of all the creatures both in sea and land 5 
 
 Onely to Man thou hast made known thy wayes, 
 
 And put the penne alone into his hand, 
 And made him Secretarie of thy praise. 
 
 Beasts fain would sing; birds dittie to their notes; 
 
 Trees would be tuning on their native lute 10 
 To thy renown; but all their hands and throats 
 
 Are brought to Man, while they are lame and 
 mute. 
 
 Man is the world's high Priest. He doth present 
 The sacrifice for all; while they below 
 
 Unto the service mutter an assent, 15 
 
 Such as springs use that fall and windes that 
 blow. 
 
252 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 
 
 He that to praise and laud thee doth refrain 
 Doth not refrain unto himself alone, 
 
 But robs a thousand who would praise thee fain, 
 And doth commit a world of sinne in one. 20 
 
 The beasts say, Eat me ; but if beasts must teach. 
 The tongue is yours to eat, but mine to praise. 
 
 The trees say, Pull me ; but the hand you stretch 
 Is mine to write, as it is yours to raise. 
 
 Wherefore, most sacred Spirit, I here present 25 
 For me and all my fellows praise to thee. 
 
 And just it is that I should pay the rent, 
 Because the benefit accrues to me. 
 
 We all acknowledge both thy power and love 
 To be exact, transcendent, and divine; 30 
 
 Who dost so strongly and so sweetly move, 
 
 While all things have their will, yet none but 
 thine. 
 
 For either thy command or thy permission 
 
 Lay hands on all. They are thy right and left. 
 
 The first puts on with speed and expedition, 35 
 The other curbs sinne's stealing pace and theft. 
 
VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 253 
 
 Nothing escapes them both. All must appeare, 
 And be dispos'd, and dress'd, and tun'd by thee, 
 
 Who sweetly temper' st all. If we could heare 
 Thy skill and art, what musick would it be! 40 
 
 Thou art in small things great, not small in any. 
 Thy even praise can neither rise nor fall. 
 
 Thou art in all things one, in each thing many. 
 For thou art infinite in one and all. 
 
 Tempests are cahn to thee. They know thy hand. 
 
 And hold it fast, as children do their father's, 
 
 Which crie and follow. Thou hast made poore 
 
 sand 47 
 
 Check the proud sea, ev'n when it swells and 
 
 gathers. 
 
 Thy cupboard serves the world. The meat is set 
 
 Where all may reach. No beast but knows his 
 
 feed. 50 
 
 Birds teach us hawking; fishes have their net; 
 The great prey on the lesse, they on some weed. 
 
 Nothing ingendred doth prevent his meat: 
 
 Flies have their table spread ere they appeare; 
 
 Some creatures have in winter what to eat, 55 
 Others do sleep, and en vie not their cheer. 
 
254 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 
 
 How finely dost thou times and seasons spin, 
 And make a twist cheeker'd with night and day! 
 
 Which as it lengthens windes, and windes us in, 
 As bouls go on, but turning all the way. 60 
 
 Each creature hath a wisdome for his good. 
 
 The pigeons feed their tender off-spring, crying, 
 When they are callow; but withdraw their food 
 
 When they are fledge, that need may teach them 
 flying. 64 
 
 Bees work for man; and yet they never bruise 
 Their master's flower, but leave it, having done. 
 
 As fair as ever and as fit to use; 
 
 So both the flower doth stay, and hony run. 
 
 Sheep eat the grasse and dung the ground for 
 
 more. 
 
 Trees, after bearing, drop their leaves for soil. 
 
 Springs vent their streams, and by expense get 
 
 store. 71 
 
 Clouds cool by heat, and baths by cooling boil. 
 
VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 255 
 
 Who hath the vertue to expresse the rare 
 
 And curious vertues both of herbs and stones ? 
 
 Is there an herb for that ? O that thy care 75 
 Would show a root that gives expressions! 
 
 And if an herb hath power, what have the starres ? 
 
 A rose, besides his beautie, is a cure. 
 Doubtlesse our plagues and plentie, peace and 
 warres 
 
 Are there much surer then our art is sure. 80 
 
 Thou hast hid metals. Man may take them thence. 
 But at his perill. When he digs the place. 
 
 He makes a grave; as if the thing had sense, 
 And threatned man that he should fill the space. 
 
 Ev'n poysons praise thee. Should a thing be lost ? 
 
 Should creatures want for want of heed their 
 due? 
 Since where are poysons, antidots are most; 87 
 
 The help stands close and keeps the fear in view. 
 
256 Vin. BEMERTON STUDY 
 
 The sea, which seems to stop the traveller, 
 
 Is by a ship the speedier passage made. 90 
 
 The windes, who think they rule the mariner, 
 Are nil'd by him and taught to serve his trade. 
 
 And as thy house is full, so I adore 
 
 Thy curious art in marshalling thy goods. 
 The hills with health abound; the vales with 
 store; 95 
 
 The South with marble ; North with furres and 
 woods. 
 
 Hard things are glorious ; easie things good cheap. 
 
 The common all men have ; that which is rare 
 Men therefore seek to have and care to keep. 
 
 The healthy frosts with summer-fruits compare. 
 
 Light without winde is glasse; warm without 
 
 weight 101 
 
 Is wooll and furres; cool without closenesse, 
 
 shade; 
 
 Speed without pains, a horse ; tall without height, 
 
 A servile hawk; low without losse, a spade. 
 
VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 257 
 
 All countreys have enough to serve their need. 105 
 If they seek fine things, thou dost make them run 
 
 For their offence ; and then dost turn their speed 
 To be commerce and trade from sunne to sunne. 
 
 Nothing wears clothes but Man; nothing doth 
 need 
 
 But he to wear them. Nothing useth fire 110 
 But Man alone, to show his heav'nly breed. 
 
 And onely he hath fuell in desire. 
 
 When th' earth was dry, thou mad'st a sea of wet. 
 
 When that lay gather'd, thou didst broach the 
 
 mountains. 
 
 When yet some places could no moisture get, 115 
 
 The windes grew gard'ners, and the clouds good 
 
 fountains. 
 
 Rain, do not hurt my flowers, but gently spend 
 Your hony drops! Presse not to smell them 
 here. 
 
 When they are ripe, their odour will ascend 119 
 And at your lodging with their thanks appeare. 
 
258 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 
 
 How harsh are thorns to pears ! And yet they make 
 A better hedge, and need less reparation. 
 
 How smooth are silks compared with a stake, 
 Or with a stone ! Yet make no good foundation. 
 
 Sometimes thou dost divide thy gifts to man, 125 
 Sometimes unite. The Indian nut alone 
 
 Is clothing, meat and trencher, drink and kan. 
 Boat, cable, sail and needle, all in one. 
 
 Most herbs that grow in brooks are hot and dry. 
 
 Cold fruits' warm kernells help against the 
 winde. 130 
 
 The lemmon's juice and rinde cure mutually. 
 
 The whey of milk doth loose, the milk doth binde. 
 
 Thy creatures leap not, but expresse a feast 
 Where all the guests sit close, and nothing wants. 
 
 Frogs marry fish and flesh; bats, bird and beast; 
 
 Sponges, non-sense and sense; mines, th' earth 
 
 and plants. 136 
 
VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 259 
 
 To show thou art not bound, as if thy lot 
 
 Were worse then ours, sometimes thou shiftest 
 
 hands. 
 
 Most things move th' under-jaw; the Crocodile 
 
 not. 
 
 Most things sleep lying; th' Elephant leans or 
 
 stands. 140 
 
 But who hath praise enough ? Nay who hath any ? 
 
 None can expresse thy works but he that knows 
 them. 
 And none can know thy works, which are so many 
 
 And so complete, but onely he that owes them. 
 
 All things that are, though they have sev'rall 
 wayes, 145 
 
 Yet in their being joyn with one advise 
 To honour thee. And so I give thee praise 
 
 In all my other hymnes, but in this twice. 
 
 [Each thing that is, although in use and name 
 It go for one, hath many wayes in store 150 
 
 To honour thee. And so each hymne thy fame 
 ExtoUeth many wayes, yet this one more.] 
 
260 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 
 
 DIVINITIE 
 
 As men, for fear the starres should sleep and nod 
 And trip at night, have spheres suppU'd, 
 
 As if a starre were duller then a clod, 
 
 Which knows his way without a guide; 
 
 Just so the other heav'n they also serve, 5 
 
 Divinitie's transcendent skie. 
 Which with the edge of wit they cut and carve. 
 
 Reason triumphs, and faith lies by. 
 
 Could not that wisdome which first broacht the 
 wine 
 
 Have thicken'd it with definitions ? 10 
 
 And jagg'd his seamlesse coat, had that been fine, 
 
 With curious questions and divisions ? 
 
VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 261 
 
 But all the doctrine which he taught and gave 
 Was cleare as heav'n, from whence it came. 
 
 At least those beams of truth which onely save 15 
 Surpasse in brightnesse any flame. 
 
 Love God and love your neighbour. Watch and 
 pray. 
 
 Do as ye would he done unto. 
 O dark instructions! Ev'n as dark as day! 
 
 Who can these Gordian knots undo ? 20 
 
 But he doth bid us take his bloud for wine. 
 
 Bid what he please! Yet I am sure 
 To take and taste what he doth there designe 
 
 Is all that saves, and not obscure. 
 
 Then burn thy Epicycles, foolish man. 25 
 
 Break all thy spheres and save thy head. 
 
 Faith needs no staffe of flesh, but stoutly can 
 To heav'n alone both go and leade. 
 
262 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 
 
 THE BRITISH CHURCH 
 
 I JOY, deare Mother, when I view 
 Thy perfect Hneaments, and hue 
 
 Both sweet and bright. 
 Beautie in thee takes up her place. 
 And dates her letters from thy face 5 
 
 When she doth write. 
 
 A fine aspect in fit array, 
 
 Neither too mean, nor yet too gay, 
 
 Shows who is best. 
 Outlandish looks may not compare, 10 
 For all they either painted are. 
 
 Or else undrest. 
 
VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 263 
 
 She on the hills which wantonly 
 Allureth all, in hope to be 
 
 By her preferr'd, 15 
 
 Hath kiss'd so long her painted shrines 
 That ev'n her face by kissing shines, 
 
 For her reward. 
 
 She in the valley is so shie 
 
 Of dressing that her hair doth lie 20 
 
 About her eares; 
 While she avoids her neighbour's pride. 
 She wholly goes on th' other side, 
 
 And nothing wears. 
 
 But dearest Mother, (what those misse,) 25 
 The mean, thy praise and glorie is 
 
 And long may be. 
 Blessed be God, whose love it was 
 To double-moat thee with his grace, 
 
 And none but thee. 30 
 
264 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 
 
 CHURCH-RENTS AND SCHISMES 
 
 Brave rose, (alas !) where art thou ? In the chair 
 
 Where thou didst lately so triumph and shine 
 A worm doth sit, whose many feet and hair 
 
 Are the more foul the more thou wert divine. 
 This, this hath done it, this did bite the root 5 
 
 And bottome of the leaves ; which when the 
 winde 
 Did once perceive, it blew them under foot. 
 
 Where rude unhallow'd steps do crush and 
 grinde 
 Their beauteous glories. Onely shreds of thee, 
 And those all bitten, in thy chair I see. 10 
 
VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 265 
 
 Why doth my Mother blush ? Is she the rose 
 
 And shows it so ? Indeed Christ's precious 
 bloud 
 Gave you a colour once; which when your foes 
 
 Thought to let out, the bleeding did you good, 
 And made you look much fresher then before. 15 
 
 But when debates and fretting jealousies 
 Did worm and work within you more and more, 
 
 Your colour faded, and calamities 
 Turned your ruddie into pale and bleak. 
 Your health and beautie both began to break. 20 
 
 Then did your sev'rall parts unloose and start. 
 
 Which when your neighbours saw, Uke a north- 
 winde 
 They rushed in and cast them in the dirt, 
 
 Where Pagans tread. O Mother deare and 
 kinde. 
 Where shall I get me eyes enough to weep, 25 
 
 As many eyes as starres ? Since it is night. 
 And much of Asia and Europe fast asleep. 
 
 And ev'n all Africk. Would at least I might 
 With these two poore ones hck up all the dew 
 Which falls by night, and poure it out for you ! 30 
 
266 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 
 
 THE JEWS 
 
 PooRE nation, whose sweet sap and juice 
 Our cyens have purloin'd and left you drie; 
 
 Whose streams we got by the Apostles' sluce 
 And use in baptisme, while ye pine and die; 
 Who, by not keeping once, became a debter, 5 
 
 And now by keeping lose the letter; 
 
 Oh that my prayers! mine, alas! 
 Oh that some Angel might a trumpet sound, 
 
 At which the Church falling upon her face 
 Should crie so loud untill the trump were drown'd. 
 And by that crie of her deare Lord obtain 11 
 
 That your sweet sap might come again! 
 
VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 267 
 
 SELF-CONDEMNATION 
 
 Thou who condemnest Jewish hate 
 For choosing Barabbas, a murderer, 
 Before the Lord of glorie. 
 Look back upon thine own estate, 
 Call home thine eye (that busie wanderer), 5 
 
 That choice may be thy storie. 
 
 He that doth love, and love amisse, 
 This world's delights before true Christian joy. 
 Hath made a Jewish choice. 
 The world an ancient murderer is; 10 
 
 Thousands of souls it hath, and doth destroy 
 With her enchanting voice. 
 
 He that hath made a sorrie wedding 
 Between his soul and gold, and hath preferr'd 
 
 False gain before the true, 15 
 
 Hath done what he condemnes in reading; 
 For he hath sold for money his deare Lord, 
 And is a Judas-Jew. 
 
 Thus we prevent the last great day. 
 And judge our selves. That Hght which sin and 
 passion 20 
 
 Did before dimme and choke. 
 When once those snuffes are ta'ne away. 
 Shines bright and cleare, ev'n unto condemnation, 
 Without excuse or cloke. 
 
268 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 
 
 AVARICE 
 
 Money, thou bane of blisse and sourse of wo, 
 
 Whence com'st thou that thou art so fresh and 
 fine? 
 I know thy parentage is base and low, 
 
 Man found thee poore and dirtie in a mine. 
 Surely thou didst so Httle contribute 5 
 
 To this great kingdome which thou now hast 
 got 
 That he was fain, when thou wert destitute. 
 
 To digge 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 transf err'd our right ; 
 
 Thou art the man, and man but drosse to thee. 
 Man calleth thee his wealth, who made thee rich. 
 And while he digs out thee, falls in the ditch. 
 
VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 
 
 DECAY 
 
 Sweet were the dayes when thou didst lodge with 
 
 Lot, 
 
 Struggle with Jacob, sit with Gideon, 
 
 Ad\dse with Abraham, when thy power could not 
 
 Encounter Moses' strong complaints and mone. 
 
 Thy words were then, Let me alone. 5 
 
 One might have sought and found thee presently 
 At some fair oak, or bush, or cave, or well. 
 
 Is my God this way ? No, they would reply. 
 He is to Sinai gone as we heard tell. 9 
 
 List, ye may heare great Aaron's bell. 
 
 But now thou dost thy self immure and close 
 In some one corner of a feeble heart. 
 
 Where yet both Sinne and Satan, thy old foes. 
 Do pinch and straiten thee and use much art 
 To gain thy thirds and Httle part. 15 
 
 I see the world grows old, whenas the heat 
 Of thy great love once spread, as in an urn 
 
 Doth closet up itself and still retreat. 
 Cold sinne still forcing it, till it return, 
 
 And calling Justice, all things burn. 20 
 
270 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 
 
 JUSTICE 
 
 O DREAD FULL Justice, what a fright and terrour 
 Wast thou of old, 
 When sinne and errour 
 Did show and shape thy looks to me, 
 And through their glasse discolour thee ! 5 
 He that did but look up was proud and bold. 
 
 The dishes of thy ballance seem'd to gape, 
 Like two great pits. 
 The beam and scape 
 Did like some tort' ring engine show. 10 
 Thy hand above did burn and glow, 
 Danting the stoutest hearts, the proudest wits. 
 
 But now that Christ's pure vail presents the sight, 
 I see no fears. 
 
 Thy hand is white, 15 
 
 Thy scales like buckets, which attend 
 And interchangeably descend. 
 Lifting to heaven from this well of tears. 
 
 For where before thou still didst call on me. 
 
 Now I still touch 20 
 
 And harp on thee. 
 God's promises have made thee mine. 
 Why should I justice now decline ? 
 Against me there is none, but for me much. 
 
VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 271 
 
 CONSTANCIE 
 
 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 
 Unpinne or wrench from giving all their due. 5 
 
 Whose honestie is not 
 So loose or easie that a ruffling winde 
 Can blow away, or glittering look it blinde. 
 
 Who rides his sure and even trot 9 
 
 While the world now rides by, now lags behinde. 
 
 Who, when great trials come. 
 Nor seeks nor shunnes them; but doth calmly 
 
 stay 
 Till he the thing and the example weigh. 
 
 All being brought into a summe. 
 What place or person calls for, he doth pay. 15 
 
272 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 
 
 Whom none can work or wooe 
 To use in any thing a trick or sleight. 
 For above all things he abhorres deceit. 
 
 His words and works and fashion too 
 All of a piece, and all are cleare and straight. 20 
 
 Who never melts or thaws 
 At close tentations. When the day is done, 
 His goodnesse sets not, but in dark can runne. 
 
 The sunne to others writeth laws, 
 And is their vertue. Vertue is his Sunne. 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; 29 
 
 But though men fail him, yet his part doth play. 
 
 Whom nothing can procure. 
 When the wide world runnes bias, from his will 
 To writhe his limbes, and share, not mend the ill. 
 
 This is the Mark-man, safe and sure. 
 Who still is right, and prayes to be so stiU. 35 
 
VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 273 
 
 THE FOIL 
 
 If we could see below 
 The sphere of vertue and each shining grace 
 
 As plainly as that above doth show, 
 This were the better skie, the brighter place. 
 
 God hath made starres the foil 
 To set off vertues, griefs to set off sinning. 
 
 Yet in this wretched world we toil 
 As if grief were not foul, nor vertue winning. 
 
274 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 
 
 MAN'S MEDLEY 
 
 Heark, how the birds do sing. 
 And woods do ring! 
 All creatures have their joy, and man hath his. 
 
 Yet if we rightly measure, 
 
 Man's joy and pleasure 5 
 
 Rather hereafter then in present is. 
 
 To this life things of sense 
 
 Make their pretence; 
 In th' other Angels have a right by birth. 
 
 Man ties them both alone, 10 
 
 And makes them one. 
 With th' one hand touching heav'n, with th' other 
 earth. 
 
 In soul he mounts and flies. 
 
 In flesh he dies. 14 
 
 He wears a stuffe whose thread is coarse and round, 
 
 But trimm'd with curious lace, 
 
 And should take place 
 After the trimming, not the stuffe and ground. 
 
VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 275 
 
 Not that he may not here 
 
 Taste of the cheer; 20 
 
 But as birds drink and straight Hft up their head, 
 
 So must he sip and think 
 
 Of better drink 
 He may attain to after he is dead. 
 
 But as his joyes are double, 25 
 
 So is his trouble. 
 He hath two winters, other things but one. 
 
 Both frosts and thoughts do nip 
 
 And bite his Hp, 
 And he of all things fears two deaths alone. 30 
 
 Yet ev'n the greatest griefs 
 May be reliefs, 
 Could he but take them right and in their wayes. 
 
 Happie is he whose heart 
 
 Hath found the art 35 
 
 To turn his double pains to double praise. 
 
276 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 
 
 GIDDINESSE 
 
 Oh, what a thing is man ! How farre from power, 
 
 From setled peace and rest! 
 He is some twentie sev'rall men at least 
 
 Each sev'rall houre. 4 
 
 One while he counts of heav'n as of his treasure ; 
 
 But then a thought creeps in 
 And calls him coward who for fear of sinne 
 Will lose a pleasure. 
 
 Now he will fight it out and to the warres; 
 
 Now eat his bread in peace 10 
 
 And snudge in quiet. Now he scorns increase; 
 Now all day spares. 
 
VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 277 
 
 He builds a house, which quickly down must go. 
 As if a whirl winde blew 14 
 
 And crusht the building; and it's partly true, 
 His minde is so. 
 
 O what a sight were Man if his attires 
 
 Did alter with his minde; 
 And Hke a Dolphin's skinne, his clothes combin'd 
 With his desires! 20 
 
 Surely if each one saw another's heart. 
 There would be no commerce, 
 No sale or bargain passe. All would disperse, 
 And Uve apart. 
 
 Lord, mend or rather make us. One creation 25 
 
 Will not suffice our turn. 
 Except thou make us dayly, we shall spurn 
 Our own salvation. 
 
278 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 
 
 VANITIE 
 
 The fleet Astronomer can bore 
 And thred the spheres with his quick-piercing 
 
 minde. 
 He views their stations, walks from doore to doore, 
 Surveys as if he had designed 4 
 
 To make a purchase there. He sees their dances. 
 
 And knoweth long before 
 Both their full-ey'd aspects and secret glances. 
 
 The nimble Diver with his side 
 Cuts through the working waves, that he may 
 fetch 9 
 
 His dearely-earned pearl, which God did hide 
 
 On purpose from the ventrous wretch; 
 That he might save his life, and also hers 
 
 Who with excessive pride 
 Her own destruction and his danger wears. 
 
VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 279 
 
 The subtil Chymick can devest 15 
 
 And strip the creature naked, till he finde 
 The callow principles within their nest. 
 
 There he imparts to them his minde, 
 Admitted to their bed-chamber, before 19 
 
 They appeare trim and drest 
 To ordinarie suitours at the doore. 
 
 What hath not man sought out and found, 
 But his deare God ? Who yet his glorious law 
 Embosomes in us, mellowing the ground 24 
 
 With showres and frosts, with love and 
 aw, 
 So that we need not say, Where's this command ? 
 Poore man, thou searchest round 
 To finde out death, but missest lije at hand. 
 
280 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 
 
 DOTAGE 
 
 False glozing pleasures, casks of happinesse, 
 Foolish night-fires, women's and children's 
 wishes, 
 Chases in Arras, guilded emptinesse, 
 Shadows well mounted, dreams in a career, 4 
 Embroider'd lyes, nothing between two dishes; 
 These are the pleasures here. 
 
 True earnest sorrows, rooted miseries, 
 
 Anguish in grain, vexations ripe and blown, 
 
 Sure-footed griefs, solid calamities, 
 
 Plain demonstrations, evident and cleare, 10 
 
 Fetching their proofs ev'n from the very bone; 
 These are the sorrows here. 
 
 But oh the folly of distracted men. 
 
 Who griefs in earnest, joyes in jest pursue; 
 Preferring, like brute beasts, a lothsome den 15 
 Before a court, ev'n that above so cleare. 
 Where are no sorrows, but delights more true 
 Then miseries are here! 
 
VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 281 
 
 BUSINESSE 
 
 Canst be idle ? Canst thou play. 
 Foolish soul, who sinn'd to day ? 
 
 Rivers run, and springs each one 
 
 Know their home, and get them gone. 
 
 Hast thou tears, or hast thou none ? 5 
 
 If, poore soul, thou hast no tears, 
 Would thou hadst no faults or fears! 
 Who hath these, those ill forbears. 
 
 Windes still work; it is their plot, 
 
 Be the season cold or hot. 10 
 
 Hast thou sighs, or hast thou not ? 
 
 If thou hast no sighs or grones. 
 Would thou hadst no flesh and bones! 
 Lesser pains scape greater ones. 
 
 But if yet thou idle be, 15 
 
 Foolish soul, who di'd for thee ? 
 
282 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 
 
 Who did leave his Father's throne 
 To assume thy flesh and bone ? 
 Had he hfe, or had he none ? 
 
 If he had not Hv'd for thee, 20 
 
 Thou hadst di'd most wretchedly, 
 And two deaths had been thy fee. 
 
 He so farre thy good did plot 
 
 That his own self he forgot. 
 
 Did he die, or did he not ? 25 
 
 If he had not di'd for thee. 
 Thou hadst liv'd in miserie. 
 Two lives worse then ten deaths be. 
 
 And hath any space of breath 29 
 
 'Twixt his sinnes and Saviour's death ? 
 
 He that loseth gold, though drosse. 
 Tells to all he meets his crosse. 
 He that sinnes, hath he no losse ? 
 
 He that findes a silver vein 
 
 Thinks on it, and thinks again. 35 
 
 Brings thy Saviour's death no gain ? 
 
 Who in heart not ever kneels 
 Neither sinne nor Saviour feels. 
 
Vni. BEMERTON STUDY 
 
 SINNES ROUND 
 
 SoRRiE I am, my God, sorrie I am 
 That my offences course it in a ring. 
 
 My thoughts are working hke a busie flame 
 Untill their cockatrice they hatch and bring. 4 
 
 And when they once have perfected their draughts. 
 
 My words take fire from my inflamed thoughts. 
 
 My words take fire from my inflamed thoughts. 
 Which spit it forth Hke the SiciHan hill. 
 
 They vent the wares and passe them with their 
 faults. 
 And by their breathing ventilate the ill. 10 
 
 But words sufiice not where are lewd intentions; 
 
 My hands do joyn to finish the inventions. 
 
 My hands do joyn to finish the inventions. 
 
 And so my sinnes ascend three stories high. 
 As Babel grew before there were dissentions. 15 
 
 Yet ill deeds loyter not, for they supplie 
 New thoughts of sinning. Wherefore, to my shame, 
 Sorrie I am, my God, sorrie I am. 
 
284 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 
 
 THE WATER-COURSE 
 
 Thou who dost dwell and linger here below. 
 Since the condition of this world is frail 
 
 Where of all plants afflictions soonest grow. 
 If troubles overtake thee, do not wail; 4 
 
 For who can look for lesse that loveth \ ^ .' 
 
 ( Strife. 
 
 But rather turn the pipe and water's course 
 To serve thy sinnes, and furnish thee with store 
 
 Of sov'raigne tears, springing from true remorse; 
 
 That so in purenesse thou mayst him adore 9 
 
 \Ti7u • X T. £x i Salvation. 
 
 Who gives to man as he sees nt < ^ 
 
 ( Damnation. 
 
VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 285 
 
 THE PULLEY 
 
 When God at first made man, 
 Having a glasse of blessings standing by, 
 
 Let us (said he) poure on him all we can. 
 Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie. 
 
 Contract into a span. 5 
 
 So strength first made a way. 
 Then beautie flow'd, then wisdome, honour, plea- 
 sure. 
 When almost all was out, God made a stay, 
 Perceiving that alone of all his treasure 
 
 Rest in the bottome lay. 10 
 
 For if I should (said he) 
 Bestow this jeweil also on my creature, 
 
 He would adore my gifts instead of me. 
 And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature. 
 
 So both should losers be. 15 
 
 Yet let him keep the rest, 
 But keep them with repining restlesnesse. 
 
 Let him be rich and wearie, that at least. 
 If goodnesse leade him not, yet wearinesse 
 
 May tosse him to my breast. 20 
 
286 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 
 
 MARIE MAGDALENE 
 
 When blessed Marie wip'd her Saviour's feet, 
 (Whose precepts she had trampled on before,) 
 
 And wore them for a Jewell on her head, 
 Shewing his steps should be the street 
 
 Wherein she thenceforth evermore 5 
 
 With pensive humblenesse would live and tread; 
 
 She being stain'd her self, why did she strive 
 
 To make him clean who could not be defil'd ? 
 Why kept she not her tears )for her own faults. 
 And not his feet ? Though we could dive 10 
 In tears like seas, our sinnes are pil'd 
 Deeper then they, in words, and works, and 
 thoughts. 
 
 Deare soul, she knew who did vouchsafe and 
 deigne 
 To bear her filth, and that her sinnes did dash 
 Ev'n God himself; wherefore she was not loth, 15 
 As she had brought wherewith to stain, 
 So to bring in wherewith to wash. 
 And yet, in washing one, she washed both. 
 
VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 287 
 
 THE AGONIE 
 
 Philosophers have measur'd mountains, 
 
 Fathom'd the depths of seas, of states, and kings, 
 Walk'd with a staffe to heav'n, and traced foun- 
 tains ; 
 But there are two vast, spacious things, 
 The which to measure it doth more behove, 5 
 Yet few there are that sound them : Sinne and 
 Love. 
 
 Who would know Sinne, let him repair 
 Unto Mount Olivet; there shall he see 
 
 A man so wrung with pains that all his hair, 
 His skinne, his garments bloudie be. 10 
 
 Sinne is that presse and vice which forceth pain 
 
 To hunt his cruell food through ev'ry vein. 
 
 Who knows not Love, let him assay 
 
 And taste that juice which on the crosse a pike 
 Did set again abroach; then let him say 15 
 
 If ever he did taste the like. 
 Love is that liquor sweet and most divine 
 Which my God feels as bloud; but I, as wine. 
 
288 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 
 
 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 ? 4 
 
 Sure there is room within our hearts — good store! 
 For they can lodge transgressions by the score. 
 Thousands of toyes dwell there, yet out of doore 
 
 They leave thee. 
 
 But that which shews them large, shews them unfit. 
 Whateyer sinne did this pure rock commit, 10 
 Which holds thee now ? Who hath indited it 
 
 Of murder ? 
 Where our hard hearts have took up stones to brain 
 
 thee. 
 And missing tliis, most falsly did arraigne thee, 
 Onely these stones in quiet entertain thee, 15 
 
 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. 20 
 
 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 
 
 Withold thee. 
 
VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 
 
 THE BAG 
 
 Away despair! My gracious Lord doth heare. 
 
 Though windes and waves assault my keel, 
 He doth preserve it; he doth steer, 
 
 Ev'n when the boat seems most to reel. 
 Storms are the triumph of his art. 5 
 
 Well may he close his eyes, but not his heart. 
 
 Hast thou not heard that my Lord Jesus di'd ? 
 
 Then let me tell thee a strange storie. 
 The God of power, as he did ride 
 
 In his majestick robes of glorie, 10 
 
 Resolv'd to Hght; and so one day 
 He did descend, undressing all the way. 
 
 The starres his tire of light and rings obtained, 
 
 The cloud his bow, the fire his spear, 
 The sky his azure mantle gain'd. 15 
 
 And when they ask'd what he would wear. 
 He smil'd and said, as he did go. 
 He had new clothes a making here below. / 
 
290 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 
 
 When he was come, as travellers are wont, 
 
 He did repair unto an inne. 20 
 
 Both then and after, many a brunt 
 He did endure to cancell sinne. 
 
 And having giv'n the rest before. 
 
 Here he gave up his life to pay our score. 
 
 But as he was returning, there came one 25 
 
 That ran upon him with a spear. 
 
 He who came hither all alone. 
 
 Bringing nor man, nor arms, nor fear, 
 
 Receiv'd the blow upon his side; 29 
 
 And straight he turn'd and to his brethren cry'd, 
 
 If ye have anything to send or write, 
 (I have no bag, but here is room) 
 
 Unto my father's hands and sight 
 
 (Beleeve me) it shall safely come. 
 
 That I shall minde what you impart, 35 
 
 Look, you may put it very neare my heart. 
 
 Or if hereafter any of my friends 
 
 Will use me in this kinde, the doore 
 
 Shall still be open; what he sends 
 
 I will present, and somewhat more, 40 
 
 Not to his hurt. Sighs will convey 
 
 Any thing to me. Heark despair, away! 
 
VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 291 
 
 THE SONNE 
 
 Let forrain nations of their language boast, 
 What fine varietie each tongue affords, 
 
 I like our language, as our men and coast. 
 
 Who cannot dresse it well, want wit, not words. 
 
 How neatly doe we give one onely name 5 
 
 To parents* issue and the sunne's bright starre ! 
 
 A Sonne is light and fruit; a fruitful flame 
 Chasing the father's dimnesse, carri'd farre 
 
 From the first man in th' East to fresh and new 
 Western disco v'ries of posteritie. 10 
 
 So in one word our Lord's humilitie 
 
 We turn upon him in a sense most true: 
 
 For what Christ once in humblenesse began. 
 We him in glorie call. The Sonne of Man. 
 
292 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 
 
 LOVE-JOY 
 
 As on a window late I cast mine eye, 
 I saw a vine drop grapes with J and C 
 
 Anneal'd on every bunch. One standing by 
 
 Ask'd what it meant. I (who am never loth 
 To spend my iudgement) said, It seem'd to me 
 
 To be the bodie and the letters both 6 
 
 Of Joy and Charitie. Sir, you have not miss'd, 
 The man reply'd: It figures JESUS CHRIST. 
 
VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 293 
 
 ANA- \ ^^^^Y I nj^Ayr 
 
 ^^^^^ I ARMY ) ^^^'^^^^ 
 
 How well her name an Army doth present 
 In whom the Lord oj hosts did pitch his tent! 
 
294 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 
 
 THE CHURCH-FLOORE 
 
 Mark you the floore ? That square and speckled 
 stone. 
 
 Which looks so firm and strong, 
 Is Patience. 
 
 And th* other black and grave, wherewith each one 
 Is checker'd all along, 5 
 
 Humilitie, 
 
 The gentle rising, which on either hand 
 Leads to the Quire above, 
 Is Confidence. 
 
 But the sweet cement, which in one sure band 10 
 Ties the whole frame, is Love 
 And Charitie. 
 
 Hither sometimes Sinne steals, and stains 
 The marble's neat and curious veins; 
 
 But all is cleansed when the marble weeps. 15 
 Sometimes Death, puffing at the doore. 
 Blows all the dust about the floore; 
 
 But while he thinks to spoil the room, he sweeps. 
 Blest be the Architect whose art 
 Could build so strong in a weak heart. 20 
 
IX 
 RESTLESSNESS 
 
PREFACE 
 
 THERE came a reaction. The little parish 
 which had seemed so attractive in its isola- 
 tion, and into which Herbert had thrown himself 
 with such joyful eagerness, proved painfully small. 
 For thirty-seven years he had lived in the full tide 
 of affairs. Born in high station, he had found his 
 associates among the leaders of the day. With the 
 gayest, the most learned, the most widely influen- 
 tial men of his time, Herbert had long been living 
 on terms of intimacy, and from them had derived 
 much of that ability to write fine and wittie on 
 which to the last he prided himself. Inaction had 
 always been in his eyes the most dreaded of evils. 
 Yet for the rest of his life he was to be cut off 
 from society. He was to minister to a small group 
 of farm laborers in a village remote from city, 
 court, and university. His predecessor had not 
 endured such conditions; but leaving church and 
 parsonage in decay, had lived "at a better Par- 
 sonage house sixteen or twenty miles from this 
 place." 
 
 At first the restrictions of Herbert^s surroundings 
 were not irksome. After the storms of the Crisis 
 period he found peace in sacred tasks and in what 
 he supposed to be a settled mind. It seemed as if 
 
298 PREFACE TO 
 
 at length he past changing were, Fast in God*s 
 Paradise, where no flower can wither. According 
 to Walton, he remarked to a friend just after his 
 Induction: I now look back upon my aspiring 
 thoughts, and think myself more happy than if I 
 had attain d what then I so ambitiously thirsted for. 
 In God and his service is a fulness of all joy and 
 pleasure, and no satiety. Voluntarily cut off from 
 outward activities, we have seen him joyfully 
 developing every possibility witliin his own narrow 
 bounds. He explores his priestly duties; he calls on 
 the services of his Church to disclose their inmost 
 significance; he records with double diligence the 
 moods of his soul. While it is not necessary to 
 suppose that a majority of his poems were pro- 
 duced in these three years, still the early manu- 
 script contains only a minority; and a large pro- 
 portion of those which first appear in the later 
 manuscript allude to the priestly office. Herbert's 
 art must, therefore, have been busily pursued 
 during this time of seclusion. A kindred art he 
 also had. "His chief est recreation was Musick, 
 in which heavenly Art he was a most excellent 
 Master, and did himself compose many divine 
 Hymns and Anthems which he set and sung to his 
 Lute or Viol. And though he was a lover of retired- 
 ness, yet his love of Musick was such that he went 
 usually twice every week on certain appointed 
 days to the Cathedral Church in Salisbury; and 
 at his return would say that his time spent in 
 
RESTLESSNESS 299 
 
 Prayer and Cathedral Musick elevated his Soul 
 and was his Heaven upon Earth. But before his 
 return thence to Bemerton, he would usually sing 
 and play his part at an appointed Musick-meet- 
 ing." 
 
 Such were the occupations accessible in his 
 small parish. For one who had always lived at the 
 centre of men and things, the change experienced 
 could not fail to be great. It had its welcome and 
 unwelcome sides, corresponding to the diversities 
 in Herbert's own nature. With one side of liimself 
 - — the Elizabethan and Renaissance side — he 
 loved gayety, pleasure, great place, intellectual 
 companionship, the stir and glitter of the world. 
 With the other side, which connected him with 
 the early half of the seventeenth century, he loved 
 — profoundly and tenderly loved — an abstract 
 and exclusive God, the guardian of unity, order, 
 obedience, silence, one hostile to every species of 
 earthly attachment. We have seen how on entering 
 the priesthood he anticipated that in this divine 
 love there could be no satiety. He did not find it so. 
 The conflicts of the Crisis were renewed. Human 
 interests, personal desires, had never died in Her- 
 bert. They never did die. That is what makes him 
 so attractive a figure. He is ever a struggling soul, 
 eager for God and unity, but only less eager to 
 make the v/ealthy world his own. He is no calm 
 saint. Nobody can read the stormy poems of this 
 Group and find the epithet appropriate which has 
 
SOO PREFACE TO 
 
 been connected with his name by loose admirers 
 in his and our age. Herbert is not holy. There was 
 always a noise of thoughts within his heart. How- 
 ever closely joy was locked up, some bad man would 
 let it out again. He was continually asking of God 
 whether it were not better to bestow some place and 
 power on him ; and years spent in cold dispute of 
 what is fit and not were apt to appear as only lost. 
 Many will feel that this failure of inward unity 
 was due to the separatist notions under which 
 Herbert for the most part thought of God, con- 
 ceiving Him not as immanent in human affairs, but 
 as detached and hostile. No doubt this is true ; but 
 it does not make the conflict in Herbert's soul less 
 real or instructive. Some readers, remembering 
 the literary habits of Herbert's age and the sonnets 
 of its love-poets, may suspect that the extent of the 
 conflict is exaggerated in the interests of dramatic 
 art. But even so he paints a conflict judged ap- 
 propriate to the situation. However we approach 
 these most human of Herbert's songs, we shall 
 find that in them justice is done to sides of life 
 from which the saint instinctively turns. Man is 
 a Medley; and Herbert, never the simple and 
 "holy" person of popular tradition, depicts that 
 medley with sympathetic vividness. 
 
 The Group begins with one of the greatest of 
 his autobiographic poems ; and ends with another, 
 more allegoric, but even more detailed and con- 
 fessional in character. In Love Unknown Her- 
 
RESTLESSNESS 301 
 
 bert treats imaginatively the three periods of his 
 manhood. Though he knew himself destined for 
 the priesthood, his heart was first centred on 
 Academic and royal honors. A dish of such fruit 
 he gained, intending eventually to offer it to the 
 Lord. {This dignity hath no such earthiness in it 
 but it may very well be joined with heaven : Herbert 
 to Sir J. Dan vers, 1619.) But his heart needed to 
 be detached from these things and cleansed. Then 
 came the deaths of his friends and mother (a sac- 
 rifice out of his fold, 1. 30), the resignation of his 
 Oratorship, and his severe illness. These afflictions 
 fell upon him when cold toward God, — hard of 
 heart as regards his own appointed work. Becom- 
 ing supple through affliction and through a taste 
 of God's forgiving love, he turned to that priest- 
 hood and home where he had always expected 
 rest. But even in Bemerton he finds dull conditions 
 and goading thoughts. According to this interpre- 
 tation, the present poem would resurvey at a later 
 date the career already sketched in Affliction, 
 p. 180, which is here referred to in 1. 28. A more 
 detailed but similar account is given in The Pil- 
 grimage. In The Familie, The Discharge, 
 The Size, and The Method he considers rea- 
 sons for contentment; in Hope he perceives how 
 inadequate these are; in Submission we hear of 
 the painful contrast between the empty life at 
 Bemerton and that to which he had aspired, a con- 
 trast resulting in the Dulnesse of the next poem 
 
302 PREFACE 
 
 and the rebellious mood of The Collar. The 
 sense that in the service of God there is little re- 
 warding joy suggests in the next three poems that 
 God has withdrawn his favor, and gives rise to 
 tender lament. Conscience insists on obedience. 
 But in one of the most pathetic poems of the series, 
 The Crosse, we learn how partly through illness, 
 and partly through a restless heart, the priesthood 
 is proving a disappointment. 
 
rX. RESTLESSNESS 303 
 
 LOVE UNKNOWN 
 
 Deare Friend, sit down, the tale is long and sad, 
 And in my faintings I presume your loue 
 
 Will more complie then help. A Lord I had. 
 And have, of whom some grounds which may 
 improve 
 
 I hold for two lives, and both lives in me. 5 
 To him I brought a dish of fruit one day. 
 
 And in the middle plac'd my heart. But he 
 
 (I sigh to say) 
 Lookt on a servant who did know his eye 
 
 Better then you know me, or (which is one) 10 
 Then I my self. The servant instantly. 
 
 Quitting the fruit, seiz'd on my heart alone 
 And threw it in a font wherein did fall 
 
 A stream of bloud which issu'd from the side 
 Of a great rock. I well remember all 15 
 
 And have good cause. There it was dipt and 
 di'd, 
 And washt and wrung; the very wringing yet 
 
 Enforceth tears. Your heart was foul, I fear. 
 Indeed 'tis true. I did and do commit 
 
 Many a fault more then my lease will bear, 20 
 Yet still askt pardon and was not deni'd. 
 
 But you shall heare. After my heart was well, 
 And clean and fair, as I one even-tide 
 
 (I sigh to tell) 
 
304 IX. RESTLESSNESS 
 
 Walkt by my self abroad, I saw a large 25 
 
 And spacious fornace flaming, and thereon 
 
 A boyling caldron round about whose verge 
 Was in great letters set AFFLICTION. 
 
 The greatnesse shew'd the owner. So I went 
 To fetch a sacrifice out of my fold, 30 
 
 Thinking with that which I did thus present 
 To warm his love, which I did fear grew cold. 
 
 But as my heart did tender it, the man 
 Who was to take it from me slipt his hand 34 
 
 And threw my heart into the scalding pan — 
 My heart, that brought it (do you understand ?) 
 
 The offerer's heart. Your heart was hard, I fear. 
 Indeed 't is true. I found a callous matter 
 
 Began to spread and to expatiate there; 
 But with a richer drug then scalding water 40 
 
 I bath'd it often, ev'n with holy bloud. 
 Which at a board, while many drunk bare wine, 
 
 A friend did steal into my cup for good, 
 Ev'n taken inwardly, and most divine 
 
 To supple hardnesses. But at the length 45 
 Out of the caldron getting, soon I fled 
 
 Unto my house, where to repair the strength 
 Which I had lost, I hasted to my bed. 
 
 But when I thought to sleep out all these faults 
 
 (I sigh to speak) 50 
 
IX. RESTLESSNESS 305 
 
 I found that some had stuff 'd the bed with thoughts, 
 
 I would say thorns. Deare, could my heart not 
 break, 
 When with my pleasures ev'n my rest was gone? 
 
 Full well I understood who had been there, 
 For I had giv'n the key to none but one. 55 
 
 It must be he. Your heart was dully I fear. 
 Indeed a slack and sleepie state of minde 
 
 Did oft possesse me, so that when I pray'd. 
 Though my lips went, my heart did stay behinde. 
 
 But all my scores were by another paid, 60 
 Who took the debt upon him. Truly, Friend, 
 
 For ought I heare, your Master shows to you 
 More favour then you wot of. Mark the end: 
 
 The Font did onely what was old renew, 64 
 
 The Caldron suppled what was grown too hard. 
 
 The Thorns did quicken what was grown too dull. 
 All did but strive to mend what you had marr'd. 
 
 Wherefore be cheer'd, and praise him to the full 
 Each day, each houre, each moment of the week. 
 
 Who fain would have you be new, tender, quick. 
 
306 IX. RESTLESSNESS 
 
 THE FAMILIE 
 
 What doth this noise of thoughts within my heart. 
 
 As if they had a part ? 
 What do these loud complaints and pulHng fears, 
 As if there were no rule or eares ? 
 
 But, Lord, the house and familie are thine, 5 
 
 Though some of them repine. 
 Turn out these wranglers which defile thy seat, 
 For where thou dwellest all is neat. 
 
 First Peace and Silence all disputes controU, 
 
 Then Order plaies the soul; 10 
 
 And giving all things their set forms and houres. 
 Makes of wilde woods sweet walks and bowres. 
 
 Humble Obedience neare the doore doth stand, 
 
 Expecting a command; 14 
 
 Then whom in waiting nothing seems more slow, 
 Nothing more quick when she doth go. 
 
 Joyes oft are there, and griefs as oft as joyes, 
 
 But griefs without a noise; 
 Yet speak they louder then distemper'd fears. 
 What is so shrill as silent tears ? 20 
 
 This is thy house, with these it doth abound. 
 And where these are not found, 
 Perhaps thou com'st sometimes and for a day, 
 But not to make a constant stay. 
 
IX. RESTLESSNESS 307 
 
 THE DISCHARGE 
 
 BusiE enquiring heart, what wouldst thou know ? 
 
 Why dost thou prie. 
 And turn, and leer, and with a Ucorous eye 
 
 Look high and low. 
 And in thy lookings stretch and grow ? 5 
 
 Hast thou not made thy counts and summ'd up 
 all? 
 
 Did not thy heart 
 Give up the whole and with the whole depart ? 
 Let what will fall. 
 That which is past who can recall ? 10 
 
 Thy life is God's, thy time to come is gone. 
 
 And is his right. 
 He is thy night at noon, he is at night 
 
 Thy noon alone. 
 The crop is his, for he hath sown. 15 
 
 And well it was for thee, when this befell. 
 That God did make 
 
 Thy businesse his, and in thy life partake; 
 For thou canst tell. 
 If it be his once, all is well. 20 
 
308 IX. RESTLESSNESS 
 
 Onely the present is thy part and fee. 
 
 And happy thou 
 If, though thou didst not beat thy future brow, 
 
 Thou couldst well see 
 What present things requir'd of thee. 25 
 
 They ask enough. Why shouldst thou further go ? 
 
 Raise not the mudde 
 Of future depths, but drink the cleare and good. 
 
 Dig not for wo 
 In times to come, for it will grow. 30 
 
 Man and the present fit; if he provide. 
 He breaks the square. 
 
 This houre is mine; if for the next I care, 
 I grow too wide, 
 And do encroach upon death's side. 35 
 
 For death each houre environs and surrounds. 
 
 He that would know 
 And care for future chances, cannot go 
 Unto those grounds 
 But through a Church-yard which them 
 bounds. 40 
 
IX. RESTLESSNESS 
 
 Things present shrink and die. But they that spend 
 Their thoughts and sense 
 
 On future grief, do not remove it thence. 
 But it extend, 
 And draw the bottome out an end. 45 
 
 God chains the dog till night. Wilt loose the chain. 
 And wake thy sorrow ? 
 
 Wilt thou forestall it, and now grieve tomorrow, 
 And then again 
 Grieve over freshly all thy pain ? 50 
 
 Either grief will not come, or if it must, 
 
 Do not forecast. 
 And while it cometh it is almost past. 
 
 Away distrust! 
 My God hath promis'd, he is just. 55 
 
310 IX. RESTLESSNESS 
 
 THE SIZE 
 
 Content thee, greedie heart. 
 Modest and moderate joyes to those that have 
 Title to more hereafter when they part, 
 
 Are passing brave. 
 Let th' upper springs into the low 5 
 
 Descend and fall, and thou dost flow. 
 
 What though some have a fraught 
 Of cloves and nutmegs, and in cinamon sail; 
 
 If thou hast wherewithal! to spice a draught, 
 When griefs prevail, 10 
 
 And for the future time art heir 
 To th' Isle of spices, is't not fair? 
 
 To be in both worlds full 
 Is more then God was, who was hungrie here. 
 
 Wouldst thou his laws of fasting disanull ? 15 
 
 Enact good cheer ? 
 Lay out thy joy, yet hope to save it ? 
 Wouldst thou both eat thy cake and have it ? 
 
 Great joyes are all at once, 
 But little do reserve themselves for more. 20 
 
 Those have their hopes ; these what they have 
 renounce, 
 
 And live on score. 
 Those are at home, these journey still 
 And meet the rest on Sion's hill. 
 
IX. RESTLESSNESS 311 
 
 Thy Saviour sentenc'd joy, 25 
 
 And in the flesh condemn'd it as unfit, 
 
 At least in lump, for such doth oft destroy; 
 
 Whereas a bit 
 Doth tice us on to hopes of more. 
 And for the present health restore. 30 
 
 A Christian's state and case 
 Is not a corpulent, but a thinne and spare 
 
 Yet active strength ; whose long and bonie 
 face 
 
 Content and care 
 Do seem to equally divide — 35 
 
 Like a pretender, not a bride. 
 
 Wherefore sit down, good heart. 
 Grasp not at much, for fear thou losest all. 
 
 If comforts fell according to desert, 39 
 
 They would great frosts and snows destroy ; 
 For we should count, Since the last joy. 
 
 Then close again the seam 
 Which thou hast open'd. Do not spread thy robe 
 In hope of great things. Call to minde thy 
 dream, 
 
 An earthly globe, 45 
 
 On whose meridian was engraven. 
 These seas are tears, and heavn the haven. 
 
312 IX. RESTLESSNESS 
 
 THE METHOD 
 
 PooRE heart, lament. 
 For since thy God refuseth still. 
 
 There is some rub, some discontent, 
 Which cools his will. 
 
 Thy Father covld 5 
 
 Quickly effect what thou dost move. 
 For he is Power ; and sure he would. 
 For he is Love. 
 
 Go search this thing. 
 Tumble thy breast and turn thy book. 10 
 If thou hadst lost a glove or ring, 
 Wouldst thou not look.? 
 
 What do I see 
 Written above there ? Yesterday 
 
 I did behave me carelesly 15 
 
 When I did fray. 
 
IX. RESTLESSNESS 313 
 
 And should God's eare 
 To such indifferents chained be 
 
 Who do not their own motions heare ? 
 
 Is God lesse free? 20 
 
 But stay! What's there? 
 Late when I would have something done, 
 I had a motion to forbear. 
 Yet I went on. 
 
 And should God's eare, 25 
 
 Which needs not man, be ty'd to those 
 Who heare not him, but quickly heare 
 His utter foes ? 
 
 Then once more pray. 
 Down with thy knees, up with thy voice. 30 
 Seek pardon first, and God will say, 
 Glad heart rejoyce. 
 
314 IX. RESTLESSNESS 
 
 HOPE 
 
 I GAVE to Hope a watch of mine; but he 
 
 An anchor gave to me. 
 Then an old prayer-book I did present; 
 
 And he an optick sent. 
 With that I gave a viall full of tears; 5 
 
 But he a few green eares. 
 Ah Loyterer! I'le no more, no more I'le bring. 
 
 I did expect a ring. 
 
IX. RESTLESSNESS 315 
 
 SUBMISSION 
 
 But that Thou art my wisdome, Lord, 
 And both mine eyes are thine, 
 
 My minde would be extreamly stirr'd 
 For missing my designe. 
 
 Were it not better to bestow 6 
 
 Some place and power on me ? 
 
 Then should thy praises with me grow, 
 And share in my degree. 
 
 But when I thus dispute and grieve, 
 
 I do resume my sight, 10 
 
 And pilfring what I once did give, 
 Disseize thee of thy right. 
 
 How know I, if thou shouldst me raise. 
 That I should then raise thee ? 
 
 Perhaps great places and thy praise 15 
 Do not so well agree. 
 
 Wherefore unto my gift I stand; 
 
 I will no more advise. 
 Onely do thou lend me a hand. 
 
 Since thou hast both mine eyes. 20 
 
316 IX. RESTLESSNESS 
 
 DULNESSE 
 
 Why do I languish thus, drooping and dull, 
 
 As if I were all earth ? 
 O give me quicknesse, that I may with mirth 
 Praise thee brim-full! 
 
 The wanton lover in a curious strain 5 
 
 Can praise his fairest fair, 
 And with quaint metaphors her curled hair 
 Curl o're again. 
 
 Thou art my lovelinesse, my life, my light, 
 
 Beautie alone to me. 10 
 
 Thy bloudy death and undeserv'd makes thee 
 Pure red and white. 
 
IX. RESTLESSNESS 317 
 
 When all perfections as but one appeare — 
 That, those thy form doth show — 
 The very dust where thou dost tread and go 15 
 Makes beauties here. 
 
 Where are my Hues then ? My approaches ? Views ? 
 
 Where are my window-songs ? 
 Lovers are still pretending, and ev'n wrongs 
 
 Sharpen their Muse. 20 
 
 But I am lost in flesh, whose sugred lyes 
 
 Still mock me and grow bold. 
 Sure thou didst put a minde there, if I could 
 
 Finde where it lies. 24 
 
 Lord, cleare thy gift, that wth a constant wit 
 
 I may but look towards thee. 
 Look onely; for to love thee, who can be, 
 What angel fit ? 
 
318 IX. RESTLESSNESS 
 
 THE COLLAR 
 
 I STRUCK the board, and cry'd, No more ! 
 
 I will abroad. 
 What ? Shall I ever sigh and pine ? 
 My lines and life are free, free as the rode, 
 
 Loose as the winde, as large as store. 5 
 
 Shall I be still in suit? 
 Have I no harvest but a thorn 
 To let me bloud, and not restore 
 What I have lost with cordiall fruit ? 
 
 Sure there was wine 10 
 
 Before my sighs did drie it. There was corn 
 Before my tears did drown it. 
 Is the yeare onely lost to me ? 
 
 Have I no bayes to crown it? 
 No flowers, no garlands gay ? All blasted ? 15 
 All wasted? 
 
IX. RESTLESSNESS 319 
 
 Not so, my heart! But there is fruit, 
 And thou hast hands. 
 Recover all thy sigh-blown age 
 On double pleasures. Leave thy cold dispute 20 
 Of what is fit and not. Forsake thy cage, 
 
 Thy rope of sands. 
 Which pettie thoughts have made, and made to thee 
 Good cable, to enforce and draw. 
 
 And be thy law, 25 
 
 While thou didst wink and wouldst not see. 
 Away! Take heed! 
 I win abroad. 
 Call in thy death's head there. Tie up thy fears. 
 He that forbears 30 
 
 To suit and serve his need 
 Deserves his load. 
 But as I rav*d and grew more fierce and wilde 
 At every word. 
 Me thoughts I heard one calling, Childe ! 35 
 And I reply'd, My Lord. 
 
320 IX. RESTLESSNESS 
 
 THE BUNCH OF GRAPES 
 
 Joy, I did lock thee up, but some bad man 
 Hath let thee out again; 
 
 And now, me thinks, I am where I began 
 Sev^n yeares ago. One vogue and vein, 
 One aire of thoughts usurps my brain. 5 
 
 I did toward Canaan draw, but now I am 
 
 Brought back to the Red sea, the sea of shame. 
 
 For as the Jews of old by God*s command 
 
 Travell'd and saw no town, 9. 
 
 So now each Christian hath his journeys spann'd« 
 
 Their storie pennes and sets us down. 
 
 A single deed is small renown. 
 God's works are wide, and let in future times. 
 His ancient justice overflows our crimes* 14 
 
IX. RESTLESSNESS S21 
 
 Then have we too our guardian fires and clouds. 
 
 Our Scripture-dew drops fast. 
 We have our sands and serpents, tents and shrowds. 
 
 Alas! Our murmurings come not last. 
 
 But where's the cluster.^ Where's the taste 
 Of mine inheritance ? Lord, if I must borrow, 20 
 Let me as well take up their joy as sorrow. 
 
 But can he want the grape who hath the wine ? 
 I have their fruit and more. 
 
 Blessed be God, who prospered Noah's vine 
 
 And made it bring forth grapes good store. 25 
 But much more him I must adore 
 
 Who of the law's sowre juice sweet wine did make, 
 
 Ev'n God himself being pressed for my sake. 
 
IX. RESTLESSNESS 
 
 THE SEARCH 
 
 Whither, O, whither art thou fled, 
 My Lord, my Love? 
 
 My searches are my daily bread, 
 Yet never prove. 
 
 My knees pierce th' earth, mine eies the skie, 
 And yet the sphere 6 
 
 And centre both to me denie 
 
 That thou art there. 
 
 Yet can I mark how herbs below 
 
 Grow green and gay, 10 
 
 As if to meet thee they did know, 
 
 While I decay. 
 
 Yet can I mark how starres above 
 
 Simper and shine. 
 As having keyes unto thy love, 15 
 
 While poore I pine. 
 
 I sent a sigh to seek thee out, 
 
 Deep drawn in pain, 
 
 Wing'd like an arrow; but my scout 
 
 Returns in vain. 20 
 
IX. RESTLESSNESS 323 
 
 I tun'd another (having store) 
 
 Into a grone, 
 Because the search was dumbe before; 
 
 But all was one. 
 
 Lord, dost thou some new fabrick mold, 25 
 Which favour winnes 
 
 And keeps thee present, leaving th' old 
 Unto their sinnes ? 
 
 Where is my God ? What hidden place 
 
 Conceals thee still ? 30 
 
 What covert dare eclipse thy face? 
 Is it thy will ? 
 
 O let not that of any thing! 
 
 Let rather brasse, 
 Or steel, or mountains be thy ring, 35 
 
 And I will passe. 
 
 Thy will such an intrenching is 
 
 As passeth thought. 
 To it all strength, all subtilties 
 
 Are things of nought. 40 
 
324 IX. RESTLESSNESS 
 
 Thy will such a strange distance is 
 
 As that to it 
 East and West touch, the poles do kisse. 
 
 And parallels meet. 
 
 Since then my grief must be as large 45 
 
 As is thy space, 
 Thy distance, from me; see my charge, 
 
 Lord, see my case. 
 
 O take these barres, these lengths away! 
 
 Turn, and restore me. 50 
 
 Be not Almightie, let me say, 
 
 Against, but for me. 
 
 When thou dost turn and wilt be neare. 
 
 What edge so keen. 
 What point so piercing, can appeare 55 
 
 To come between ? 
 
 For as thy absence doth excell 
 
 All distance kndwn, 
 So doth thy nearenesse bear the bell, 
 
 Making two one. 60 
 
IX. RESTLESSNESS S25 
 
 ASSURANCE 
 
 O SPITEFULL bitter thought! 
 Bitterly spitefull thought! Couldst thou invent 
 So high a torture ? Is such poyson bought ? 
 Doubtlesse but in the way of punishment, 
 
 When wit contrives to meet with thee, 5 
 No such rank poyson can there be. 
 
 Thou said'st but even now 
 That all was not so fair as I conceiv'd 
 
 Betwixt my God and me: that I allow 9 
 And coin large hopes, but that I was deceived ; 
 Either the league was broke or neare it, 
 And that I had great cause to fear it. 
 
 And what to this ? What more 13 
 Could poyson, if it had a tongue, expresse ? 
 What is thy aim ? Wouldst thou unlock the 
 doore 
 To cold despairs and gnawing pensivenesse ? 
 Wouldst thou raise devils ? I see, I know, 
 I writ thy purpose long ago. 
 
326 IX. RESTLESSNESS 
 
 But I will to my Father, 
 Who heard thee say it. O most gracious Lord, 20 
 
 If all the hope and comfort that I gather 
 Were from my self, I had not half a word. 
 Not half a letter to oppose 
 What is objected by my foes. 
 
 But thou art my desert, 25 
 
 And in this league, which now my foes invade, 
 
 Thou art not onely to perform thy part. 
 But also mine; as when the league was made 
 Thou didst at once thy self indite. 
 And hold my hand while I did write. 30 
 
 Wherefore if thou canst fail. 
 
 Then can thy truth and I. But while rocks stand, 
 
 And rivers stirre, thou canst not shrink or quail. 
 
 Yea, when both rocks and all things shall disband. 
 
 Then shalt thou be my rock and tower, 35 
 
 And make their ruine praise thy power. 
 
 Now foolish thought go on. 
 Spin out thy thread and make thereof a coat 
 
 To hide thy shame; for thou hast cast a bone 
 Which bounds on thee, and will not down thy 
 throat. 40 
 
 What for it self love once began. 
 Now love and truth will end in man. 
 
IK. RESTLESSNESS 327 
 
 CONSCIENCE 
 
 Peace pratler, do not lowre! 
 Not a fair look but thou dost call it foul. 
 Not a sweet dish but thou dost call it sowre. 
 Musick to thee doth howl. 
 By listning to thy chatting fears 5 
 
 I have both lost mine eyes and eares. 
 
 Pratler, no more, I say! 
 My thoughts must work, but Uke a noiselesse 
 
 sphere ; 
 Harmonious peace must rock them all the day. 
 
 No room for pratlers there. 10 
 
 If thou persistest, I will tell thee 
 That I have physick to expell thee. 
 
 And the receit shall be 
 My Saviour's bloud. Whenever at his board 
 I do but taste it, straight it cleanseth me 15 
 
 And leaves thee not a word; 
 No, not a tooth or nail to scratch, 
 And at my actions carp or catch. 
 
 Yet if thou talkest still, 19 
 
 Besides my physick know there's some for thee; 
 Some wood and nails to make a staffe or bill 
 For those that trouble me. 
 The bloudie crosse of my deare Lord 
 Is both my physick and my sword. 
 
328 IX. RESTLESSNESS 
 
 THE CROSSE 
 
 What is this strange and uncouth thing ? 
 
 To make me sigh, and seek, and faint, and die, 
 Untill I had some place where I might sing, 
 
 And serve thee; and not onely I, 
 But all my wealth and familie might combine 5 
 To set thy honour up as our designe. 
 
 And then when after much delay. 
 
 Much wrastling, many a combate, this deare 
 end, 
 So much desir'd, is giv'n, to take away 
 
 My power to serve thee! To unbend 10 
 
 All my abilities, my designes confound. 
 And lay my threatnings bleeding on the ground ! 
 
 One ague dwelleth in my bones. 
 
 Another in my soul (the memorie 
 What I would do for thee if once my grones 15 
 
 Could be allow'd for harmonic). 
 I am in all a weak disabled thing. 
 Save in the sight thereof where strength doth sting. 
 
rX. RESTLESSNESS 
 
 Besides, things sort not to my will 
 
 Ev'n when my will doth studie thy renown. 20 
 Thou turnest th' edge of all things on me still, 
 
 Taking me up to throw me down. 
 So that ev'n when my hopes seem to be sped 
 I am to grief alive, to them as dead. 
 
 To have my aim, and yet to be 25 
 
 Farther from it then when I bent my bow; 
 To make my hopes my torture and the fee 
 
 Of all my woes another wo. 
 Is in the midst of delicates to need. 
 And ev'n in Paradise to be a weed. 30 
 
 Ah my deare Father, ease my smart! 
 
 These contrarieties crush me. These crosse 
 actions 
 Doe winde a rope about, and cut my heart. 
 And yet since these thy contradictions 
 Are properly a crosse felt by thy sonne — 35 
 
 With but foure words, my words, Thy will he done. 
 
330 IX. RESTLESSNESS 
 
 THE PILGRIMAGE 
 
 I TRAVELLED Oil, Seeing the hill where lay 
 My expectation. 
 A long it was and weary way. 
 The gloomy cave of Desperation 
 I left on th' one, and on the other side 5 
 
 The rock of Pride. 
 
 And so I came to phansie's medow strow'd 
 With many a flower. 
 Fain would I here have made abode, 
 But I was quicken'd by my houre. 10 
 So to care's cops I came, and there got through 
 With much ado. 
 
 That led me to the wilde of passion, which 
 Some call the wold; 
 A wasted place, but sometimes rich. 15 
 Here I was robb'd of all my gold 
 Save one good Angell, which a friend had ti'd 
 Close to my side. 
 
IX. RESTLESSNESS 331 
 
 At length I got unto the gladsome hill, 
 
 Where lay my hope, 20 
 
 Where lay my heart. And climbing still. 
 When I had gain'd the brow and top, 
 A lake of brackish waters on the ground 
 
 Was all I found. 24 
 
 With that abash'd and struck with many a sting 
 Of swarming fears, 
 I fell and cry'd, Alas my King! 
 Can both the way and end be tears ? 
 Yet taking heart I rose, and then perceiv'd 
 
 I was deceiv'd; 30 
 
 My hill was further. So I flung away, 
 Yet heard a crie 
 Just as I went, None goes that way 
 And lives! If that be all, said I, 
 After so foul a journey death is fair, 35 
 
 And but a chair. 
 
X 
 
 SUFFERING 
 
PREFACE 
 
 IN one of the closing poems of the preceding 
 Group, The Crosse, Herbert complains that 
 ill health is crippling his powers and rendering 
 him unfit for work. Undoubtedly illness had much 
 to do with the restlessness and despondency which 
 the poems of Group IX describe. The fear of it 
 had long been in his mind, and was expressed as 
 early as 1622 in that letter to his mother from 
 which I have already quoted. During the Crisis 
 period it comes out in The Priesthood as an- 
 other reason for hesitation when he is just coming 
 to a decision. 
 
 Should I presume 
 To wear thy habit, the severe attire 
 
 My slender compositions might consume* 
 I am both foul and brittle. 
 
 Herbert's constitution was naturally frail. Speak- 
 ing of his sichiesses in Easter Wings he says, My 
 tender age in sorroiv did heginne. In the letter of 1 6 1 
 to his mother he mentions my late ague. In 1617 he 
 writes his stepfather: You know I was sick last 
 vacation, neither am I yet recovered, so that I am 
 fain ever and anon to buy somewhat tending towards 
 my health. Walton says that "He had often de- 
 
336 PREFACE TO 
 
 sign'd to leave the University and decline all Study, 
 which he thought did impair his health, for he had 
 a body apt to a Consumption and to Fevers and 
 other infirmities." Later, Walton writes: "About 
 the year 1629 Mr. Herbert was seiz'd with a sharp 
 Quotidian Ague. He became his own Physitian 
 and cur'd himself of his Ague by forbearing Drink, 
 and not eating any Meat, no not Mutton nor a 
 Hen or Pidgeon, unless they were salted. And by 
 such a constant Dyet he removed his Ague, but 
 with inconveniencies that were worse; for he 
 brought upon himself a disposition to Rheumes 
 and other weaknesses and a supposed Consump- 
 tion." 
 
 Probably this severe illness occurred somewhat 
 earlier in the Crisis period than Walton here states ; 
 for Herbert married in March, 1629, and W^alton 
 in another passage says that before '*he declar'd 
 his resolution both to marry and to enter into the 
 Sacred Orders of Priesthood ... his health was 
 apparently improv'd to a good degree of strength 
 and chearfulness." In any case, it was but a few 
 years later that he undertook his work at Bemerton 
 with consumption well under way. The seeds of 
 it were provided by his natural constitution; its 
 development was advanced by the physical and 
 mental experiences of the Crisis; and its end was 
 assured by his taking up a new and anxious form of 
 life under circumstances where introspection and 
 depression were inevitable. 
 
SUFFERING 337 
 
 There is no sharp dividing Hne parting this 
 Group of poems from the preceding. They are 
 separated rather by the varying degrees of empha- 
 sis laid on motives common to the two. Through- 
 out them both ring notes of disappointment over 
 the priesthood, despondency, rebelhon, dulness, 
 self-reproach, penitence, mental perplexity, bodily 
 pain, fear of God's alienation, and the bitterness of 
 lifelong purposes coming to an end. This sad ma- 
 terial I have tried to set in order. The poems which 
 are chiefly dominated by the earlier emotions 
 mentioned, I place in Group IX; those ruled by 
 the later, in Group X. In the former, the mental 
 side of his distress is uppermost, — his intellectual 
 discontent. In the second, physical suffering 
 declares itself, which still, after the manner of 
 the love-poets, he attributes to some possible fault 
 in himself and negligence on the part of the great 
 Friend. 
 
 It is noticeable how comparatively slight a place 
 in these laments Herbert gives to regrets for the 
 broken priesthood. While it seems certain that two 
 clear purposes ran together throughout Herbert's 
 life, the purpose to be a priest and that to be a poet, 
 the former remained only a purpose until twelve 
 thirteenths of his short life were gone. The latter 
 passed out of the stage of resolution and became a 
 diligently prosecuted reality as early as 1610. That 
 his poetic work is to end he mourns in Grief, 
 DuLNESSE, and The Forerunners, and to it he 
 
338 PREFACE TO 
 
 alludes at the close of The Flower. But there is 
 little direct mention of the cessation of his priestly 
 work. I think this must be explained by the highly 
 individualistic conception of religion which he held. 
 Repeatedly I have pointed out how his holy aspira- 
 tions confine themselves to drawing close the ties 
 between God and his own soul. Possibly he may 
 have regarded these essentially personal relations 
 as those best fitted for expression in poetry. At any 
 rate, it is of his own salvation that he regularly 
 speaks. He will be God's child ; will love Him and 
 be loved. The desire to sanctify himself for the 
 sake of others rarely appears. We cannot compre- 
 hend a great nature unless we are willing to ob- 
 serve its limitations. Herbert shared those of liis 
 age. Its noblest work was to take the single soul 
 and set it before God. Piety as personal allegiance 
 was its special Gospel, a partial Gospel no doubt, 
 as are the thoughts about religion of each succeed- 
 ing age. But partial as it was, it was a real and 
 weighty part, and it made a permanent contribu- 
 tion to the spiritual resources of our race. His 
 priesthood Herbert accordingly thought of as pri- 
 marily the dedication of himself to God. When it 
 appeared that God wanted him not here, but above, 
 he experienced few regrets over priestly work left 
 undone. Regrets he has. Sighs and groans abound. 
 But they are those of the lover conscious of his 
 own lack of desert, and uncertain whether at last 
 he may find favor in the loved one's sight. 
 
SUFFERING 339 
 
 On the other hand, Herbert has for more than 
 twenty years been studious of poetry. In it he has 
 been conscious of something more hke pubhc ser- 
 vice than even the priesthood yielded. The latter 
 has been principally a means of effecting his own 
 salvation; the former, of obeying the laws of 
 beauty, and counteracting certain evil tendencies 
 of his time. To its delicate demands he still steadily 
 holds himself. These closing cries of pain are 
 guarded, and given as beautiful a form as ever 
 The Elixer or Mortification had in the proud 
 Cambridge days. I find no falling off, no slov- 
 enliness, in all this preoccupied period. The 
 Flow^er is one of his most subtly beautiful pieces, 
 though declaring itself to be very late. And The 
 Forerunners, Vertue, Life, and The Glance, 
 wliich I believe must stand in the Death Group, 
 stand also in the very front rank of Herbert's 
 performance. 
 
 I have already indicated the scheme of my 
 arrangement. It follows the gradually increasing 
 prominence of the consciousness of bodily ill. 
 There runs through the early poems of the Group 
 — Grieve Not, Confession, The Storm, Com- 
 plaining — a fear that God has withdrawn Him- 
 self. This changes in the Afflictions, Sighs and 
 Grones, and Longing, to a sense of physical pain, 
 a pain which he believes, though sent by God, is 
 sent in love. In The Glimpse, A Parodie, Jo- 
 seph's Coat, and Jesu, there springs up a kind of 
 
340 PREFACE 
 
 tender playfulness between him, the sufferer, and 
 the Friend who brings the bitter gift. And in one 
 of the sweet intervals of suffering, reported in 
 The Flower, full joy and peace are felt in the 
 presence of the loved one. 
 
X. SUFFERING S41 
 
 BITTER-SWEET 
 
 Ah my deare angrie Lord, 
 
 Since thou dost love, yet strike, 
 
 Cast down, yet help afford, 
 Sure I will do the like. 
 
 I will complain, yet praise; 
 
 I will bewail, approve; 
 And all my sowre-sweet dayes 
 
 I win lament, and love. 
 
342 X. SUFFERING 
 
 JUSTICE 
 
 I CANNOT skill of these thy wayes. 
 Lord, thou didst make me, yet thou woundest me; 
 Lord, thou dost wound me, yet thou dost relieve 
 me; 
 Lord, thou relievest, yet I die by thee; 4 
 
 Lord, thou dost kill me, yet thou dost reprieve me. 
 
 But when I mark my life and praise. 
 Thy justice me most fitly payes; 
 For I do praise thee, yet I praise thee not; 
 
 My prayers mean thee, yet my prayers stray ; 
 I would do well, yet sinne the hand hath got; 10 
 My sold doth love thee, yet it loves delay, 
 I cannot skill of these my wayes. 
 
X. SUFFERING 343 
 
 GRIEVE NOT THE HOLY SPIRIT, &c. 
 
 (EPHESIANS VI, 30) 
 
 And art thou grieved, sweet and sacred Dove, 
 When I am sowre 
 And crosse thy love ? 
 Grieved for me ? The God of strength and power 
 Griev'd for a worm, which when I tread 5 
 I passe away and leave it dead ? 
 
 Then weep mine eyes, the God of love doth grieve. 
 Weep foolish heart. 
 And weeping live. 
 For death is drie as dust. Yet if ye part, 10 
 
 End as the night whose sable hue 
 Your sinnes expresse: melt into dew. 
 
 When sawcie mirth shall knock or call at doore. 
 Cry out. Get hence, 
 Or cry no more. 15 
 
 Almightie God doth grieve, he puts on sense. 
 I sinne not to my grief alone. 
 But to my God's too; he doth grone. 
 
344 X. SUFFERING 
 
 Oh take tliy lute, and tune it to a strain 
 
 Which may with thee 20 
 
 All day complain. 
 There can no discord but in ceasing be. 
 Marbles can weep; and surely strings 
 More bowels have then such hard things. 
 
 Lord, I adjudge my self to tears and grief, 25 
 Ev'n endlesse tears 
 Without relief. 
 If a cleare spring for me no time forbears. 
 But runnes although I be not drie, 
 I am no Crystall, what shall I } 30 
 
 Yet if I wail not still, since still to wail 
 Nature denies. 
 And flesh would fail 
 If my deserts were masters of mine eyes, 34 
 Lord, pardon, for thy sonne makes good 
 My want of tears with store of bloud. 
 
X. SUFFERING 345 
 
 CONFESSION 
 
 O WHAT a cunning guest 
 Is this same grief! Within my heart I made 
 
 Closets; and in them many a chest; 
 
 And Hke a master in my trade, 
 In those chests, boxes; in each box, a till; 5 
 Yet grief knows all, and enters when he will. 
 
 No scrue, no piercer can 
 Into a piece of timber work and winde 
 
 As God's afflictions into man, 
 
 When he a torture hath design'd. 10 
 
 They are too subtill for the subt'llest hearts. 
 And fall, hke rheumes, upon the tendrest parts. 
 
346 X. SUFFERING 
 
 We are the earth, and they, 
 Like moles within us, heave, and cast about; 
 
 And till they foot and clutch their prey 16 
 They never cool, much lesse give out. 
 No smith can make such locks but they have keyes. 
 Closets are halls to them; and hearts, high-wayes. 
 
 Onely an open breast 
 Doth shut them out, so that they cannot enter. 20 
 Or, if they enter, cannot rest 
 But quickly seek some new adventure. 
 Smooth open hearts no fastning have, but fiction 
 Doth give a hold and handle to affliction. 
 
 Wherefore my faults and sinnes, 25 
 
 Lord, I acknowledge. Take thy plagues away. 
 For since confession pardon winnes, 
 I challenge here the brightest day, 
 The clearest diamond. Let them do their best. 
 They shall be thick and cloudie to my breast. 30 
 
X. SUFFERING 347 
 
 THE STORM 
 
 If as the windes and waters here below 
 
 Do flie and flow, 
 
 My sighs and tears as busie were above, 
 
 Sure they would move 
 
 And much affect thee, as tempestuous times 5 
 
 Amaze poore mortals and object their crimes. 
 
 Starres have their storms, ev'n in a high degree. 
 
 As well as we. 
 
 A throbbing conscience spurred by remorse 9 
 
 Hath a strange force. 
 
 It quits the earth, and mounting more and more, 
 
 Dares to assault thee and besiege thy doore. 
 
 There it stands knocking, to thy musick's wrong, 
 
 And drowns the song. 
 
 Glorie and honour are set by till it 15 
 
 An answer get. 
 
 Poets have wrong'd poore storms. Such dayes are 
 best; 
 
 They purge the aire without, within the breast. 
 
348 X. SUFFERING 
 
 SION 
 
 Lord, with what glorie wast thou serv'd of old. 
 When Solomon's temple stood and flourished! 
 Where most things were of purest gold. 
 
 The wood was all embellished 
 With flowers and carvings, mysticall and rare. 5 
 All show'd the builder's, crav'd the seer's care. 
 
 Yet all this glorie, all this pomp and state 
 Did not affect thee much, was not thy aim; 
 Something there was that sow'd debate. 
 
 Wherefore thou quitt'st thy ancient claim, 10 
 And now thy Architecture meets with sinne; 
 For all thy frame and fabrick is within. 
 
 There thou art struggling with a peevish heart, 
 
 Which sometimes crosseth thee, thou sometimes it. 
 
 The fight is hard on either part. 15 
 
 Great God doth fight, he doth submit. 
 All Solomon's sea of brasse and world of stone 
 Is not so deare to thee as one good grone. 
 
 And truly brasse and stones are heavie things, 
 Tombes for the dead, not temples fit for thee. 20 
 But grones are quick and full of wings, 
 
 And all their motions upward be. 
 And ever as they mount, like larks they sing. 
 The note is sad, yet musick for a king. 
 
X. SUFFERING 349 
 
 COMPLAINING 
 
 Do not beguile my heart. 
 Because thou art 
 My power and wisdome. Put me not to shame. 
 Because I am 4 
 
 Thy clay that weeps, thy dust that calls. 
 
 Thou art the Lord of glorie. 
 The deed and storie 
 Are both thy due. But I a silly flie. 
 That live or die 
 According as the weather falls. 10 
 
 Art thou all justice, Lord ? 
 Shows not thy word 
 More attributes ? Am I all throat or eye. 
 To weep or crie? 
 Have I no parts but those of grief ? 15 
 
 Let not thy wrathfull power 
 Afflict my houre. 
 My inch of life. Or let thy gracious power 
 Contract my houre, 
 That I may climbe and finde relief. 20 
 
350 X. SUFFERING 
 
 ^ AFFLICTION 
 
 Kill me not ev'ry day, 
 Thou Lord of life; since thy one death for me 
 Is more then all my deaths can be, 
 
 Though I in broken pay 
 Die over each houre of Methusalem*s stay. 6 
 
 If all men's tears were let 
 Into one common sewer, sea, and brine. 
 
 What were they all comparM to thine ? 
 Wherein if they were set, 9 
 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 cro^se took up in one. 
 By way of imprest, all my future mone. 15 
 
X. SUFFERING 
 
 351 
 
 AFFLICTION 
 
 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 reHef, 
 Making a scepter 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 Hfe and shape, 
 Thou knowst my talHes ; and when there's assign'd 
 So much breath to a sigh, what's then behinde ? 
 Or if some yeares with it escape, 10 
 
 The sigh then onely is 
 A gale to bring me sooner to my bhsse. 
 
 Thy hfe 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 crosse. 
 Thou dying dayly, praise thee to thy losse. 
 
352 X. SUFFERING 
 
 AFFLICTION 
 
 Broken in pieces all asunder. 
 Lord, hunt me not> 
 A thing forgot. 
 Once a poore creature, now a wonder, 
 
 A wonder tortured in the space 5 
 
 Betwixt this world and that of grace* 
 
 My thoughts are all a case of knives> 
 Wounding my heart 
 With scattered smart, 
 As watring pots give flowers their lives. 10 
 Nothing their furie can control! 
 While they do wound and prick my soul. 
 
X. SUFFERING 353 
 
 All my attendants are at strife, 
 Quitting their place 
 Unto my face. 15 
 
 Nothing performs the task of life. 
 
 The elements are let loose to fight. 
 And while I live trie out their right. 
 
 Oh help, my God! Let not their plot 
 
 Kill them and me, 20 
 
 And also thee. 
 Who art my life. Dissolve the knot, 
 As the sunne scatters by his Hght 
 All the rebellions of the night. 
 
 Then shall those powers which work for grief 
 Enter thy pay, 26 
 
 And day by day 
 Labour thy praise and my rehef ; 
 
 With care and courage building me, 
 Till I reach heav'n, and much more thee. 
 
354 X. SUFFERING 
 
 SIGHS AND GRONES 
 
 O DO not use me 
 After my sinnes! Look not on my desert, 
 
 But on thy glorie! Then thou wilt reform 
 And not refuse me; for thou onely art 
 
 The mightie God, but I a silhe 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, destroyed thy woods, 
 Suckt all thy magazens. My head did ake, 10 
 Till it found out how to consume thy goods. 
 O do not scourge me! 
 
X. SUFFERING 355 
 
 O do not blinde me! 
 I have deserv'd that an Egyptian night 
 
 Should thicken all my powers, because my lust 
 Hath still sow'd fig-leaves to exclude thy light. 16 
 But I am frailtie, and already dust. 
 
 O do not grinde me! 
 
 O do not fill me 
 With the turn'd viall of thy bitter wrath! 20 
 
 For thou hast other vessels full of bloud, 
 A part whereof my Saviour empti'd hath, 
 Ev'n unto death. Since he di'd for my good, 
 O do not kill me! 
 
 But O reprieve me! 25 
 For thou hast lije and death at thy command. 
 Thou art both Judge and Saviour^ feast and 
 rody 
 Cordiall and Corrosive. Put not thy hand 
 Into the bitter box, but O my God, 
 
 My God, relieve me! 30 
 
356 X. SUFFERING 
 
 LONGING 
 
 With sick and famisht eyes, 
 With doubling knees and weary bones, 
 To thee my cries. 
 To thee my grones. 
 To thee my sighs, my tears ascend. 5 
 
 No end ? 
 
 My throat, my soul is hoarse. 
 My heart is wither'd Hke a ground 
 Which thou dost curse. 
 My thoughts turn round 10 
 And make me giddie. Lord, I fall. 
 Yet call. 
 
 From thee all pitie flows. 
 Mothers are kinde because thou art. 
 
 And dost dispose 15 
 
 To them a part. 
 Their infants them, and they suck thee 
 More free. 
 
X. SUFFERING 357 
 
 Bowels of pitie, heare! 
 Lord of my soul, love of my minde, 20 
 
 Bow down thine eare! 
 Let not the winde 
 Scatter my words, and in the same 
 Thy name! 
 
 Look on my sorrows round! 25 
 
 Mark well my furnace! O what flames. 
 What heats abound! 
 What griefs, what shames! 
 Consider, Lord! Lord, bow thine eare 
 
 And hearel 30 
 
 Lord Jesu, thou didst bow 
 » Thy dying head upon the tree; 
 O be not now 
 More dead to me! 
 Lord heare ! Shall he that made the eare, 35 
 Not heare ? 
 
 Behold, thy dust doth stirre. 
 It moves, it creeps, it aims at thee. 
 Wilt thou deferre 
 To succour me, 40 
 
 Thy pile of dust, wherein each crumme 
 Sayes, Come? 
 
358 X, SUFFERING 
 
 To thee help appertains. 
 Hast thou left all things to their course, 
 
 And laid the reins 45 
 
 Upon the horse ? 
 Is all lockt? Hath a sinner's plea 
 No key ? 
 
 Indeed the world's thy book. 
 Where all things have their lease assign'd; 
 
 Yet a meek look 61 
 
 Hath interlin'd. 
 Thy board is full, yet humble guests 
 Finde nests. 
 
 Thou tarriest, while I die 55 
 
 And fall to nothing. Thou dost reigne 
 And rule on high, 
 While I remain 
 In bitter grief. Yet am I stil'd 
 
 Thy childe. 60 
 
 Lord, didst thou leave thy throne 
 Not to relieve ? How can it be 
 
 That thou art grown 
 Thus hard to me ? 
 Were sinne alive, good cause there were 65 
 To bear. 
 
X. SUFFERING 359 
 
 But now both sinne is dead, 
 And all thy promises live and bide. 
 That wants his head; 
 These speak and chide, 70 
 
 And in thy bosome poure my tears 
 As theirs. 
 
 Lord Jesu, heare my heart. 
 Which hath been broken now so long, 
 
 That ev'ry part 75 
 
 Hath got a tongue! 
 Thy beggars grow; rid them away 
 To day. 
 
 My love, my sweetnesse, heare! 
 By these thy feet, at wliich my heart 80 
 
 Lies all the yeare. 
 Pluck out thy dart 
 And heal my troubled breast which cryes. 
 Which dyes. 
 
360 X. SUFFERING 
 
 THE GLIMPSE 
 
 Whither away delight ? 
 Thou cam'st but now; wilt thou so soon depart, 
 
 And give me up to night ? 
 For many weeks of lingring pain and smart 
 But one half houre of comfort for my heart ? 5 
 
 Me thinks delight should have 
 More skill in musick and keep better time. 
 
 Wert thou a winde or wave, 
 They quickly go and come with lesser crime. 9 
 Flowers look about, and die not in their prime. 
 
 Thy short abode and stay 
 Feeds not, but addes to the desire of meat. 
 
 Lime begg'd of old (they say) 
 A neighbour spring to cool his inward heat, 
 Which by the spring's accesse grew much more 
 great. 15 
 
X. SUFFERING 361 
 
 In hope of thee my heart 
 Pickt here and there a crumme, and would not die; 
 
 But constant to his part 
 Whenas my fears foretold this, did replie, 
 A slender thread a gentle guest will tie. 20 
 
 Yet if the heart that wept 
 Must let thee go, return when it doth knock. 
 
 Although thy heap be kept 
 For future times, the droppings of the stock 24 
 May oft break forth, and never break the lock. 
 
 If I have more to spinne, 
 The wheel shall go so that thy stay be short. 
 
 Thou knowst how grief and sinne 
 Disturb the work. O make me not their sport, 
 Who by thy coming may be made a court! 30 
 
X. SUFFERING 
 
 A PARODIE 
 
 Soul's joy, when thou art gone, 
 
 And I alone — 
 
 Which cannot be, 
 Because thou dost abide with me 
 
 And I depend on thee — 5 
 
 Yet when thou dost suppresse 
 
 The cheerfulnesse 
 
 Of thy abode, 
 And in my powers not stirre abroad, 
 
 But leave me to my load; 10 
 
 O what a damp and shade 
 
 Doth me invade! 
 
 No stormie night 
 Can so afflict or so affright 
 
 As thy eclipsed light. 15 
 
X. SUFFERING 363 
 
 Ah Lord! Do not withdraw, 
 
 Lest want of aw 
 
 Make Sinne appeare, 
 And when thou dost but shine lesse cleare, 
 Say that thou art not here. 20 
 
 And then what hfe I have, 
 
 While Sinne doth rave. 
 
 And falsly boast 
 That I may seek but thou art lost. 
 
 Thou, and alone thou, know'st. 25 
 
 O what a deadly cold 
 
 Doth me infold! 
 
 I half beleeve 
 That Sinne sayes true. But while I grieve, 
 Thou com'st and dost relieve. 30 
 
S64 X. SUFFERING 
 
 DISCIPLINE 
 
 Throw away thy rod, 
 Throw away thy wrath. 
 
 my God, 
 Take the gentle path. 
 
 For my heart's desire 5 
 
 Unto thine is bent. 
 
 1 aspire 
 To a full consent. 
 
 Not a word or look 
 I affect to own, 10 
 
 But by book, 
 And thy book alone. 
 
 Though I fail, I weep. 
 Though I halt in pace, 
 
 Yet I creep 15 
 
 To the throne of grace. 
 
X. SUFFERING 365 
 
 Then let wrath remove. 
 Love will do the deed: 
 
 For with love 
 Stonie hearts will bleed. 20 
 
 Love is swift of foot. 
 Love's a man of warre, 
 
 And can shoot, 
 And can hit from farre. 
 
 Who can scape his bow ? 25 
 
 That which wrought on thee. 
 
 Brought thee low. 
 Needs must work on me. 
 
 Throw away thy rod. 
 Though man frailties hath, 30 
 
 Thou art God. 
 Throw away thy wrath. 
 
X. SUFFERING 
 
 JOSEPH'S COAT 
 
 Wounded I sing, tormented I indite, 
 
 Thrown down I fall into a bed and rest. 
 Sorrow hath chang'd its note; such is his will 
 
 Who changeth all things as him pleaseth best. 
 For well he knows if but one grief and smart 5 
 
 Among my many had his full career, 
 Sure it would carrie with it ev*n my heart. 
 
 And both would runne untill they found a biere 
 To fetch the bodie, both being due to grief. 
 
 But he hath spoil'd the race, and giv'n to an- 
 guish 10 
 One of Joye's coats, ticing it with relief 
 
 To linger in me, and together languish. 
 I live to shew his power who once did bring 
 My joyes to weep, and now my griefs to sing. 
 
X. SUFFERING 367 
 
 JESU 
 
 Jesu is in my heart, his sacred name 
 
 Is deeply carved there. But th' other week 
 A great affliction broke the Uttle frame, 
 
 Ev'n all to pieces; which I went to seek. 
 And first I found the corner where was J, 5 
 
 After where E S, and next where U was 
 graved- 
 When I had got these parcels, instantly 
 
 I sat me down to spell them; and perceived 
 That to my broken heart he was / ease you. 
 
 And to my whole is J ES U. 10 
 
368 X. SUFFERING 
 
 THE FLOWER 
 
 How fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean 
 Are thy returns! Ev*n as the flowers in spring. 
 
 To which, besides their own demean. 
 The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring. 
 
 Grief melts away 5 
 
 Like snow in May, 
 As if there were no such cold thing. 
 
 Who would have thought my shriveFd heart 
 Could have recovered greennesse ? It was gone 
 
 Quite under ground, as flowers depart 10 
 To see their mother-root when they have blown; 
 Where they together 
 All the hard weather, 
 Dead to the world, keep house unknown. 
 
 These are thy wonders, Lord of power, 15 
 Killing and quickning, bringing down to hell 
 
 And up to heaven in an houre; 
 Making a chiming of a passing-bell. 
 We say amisse. 
 This or that is; 20 
 
 Thy word is all, if we could spell. 
 
X. SUFFERING 369 
 
 that I once past changing were, 
 
 Fast in thy Paradise, where no flower can wither! 
 Many a spring I shoot up fair, 24 
 
 Off 'ring at heav'n, growing and groning thither; 
 Nor doth my flower 
 Want a spring-showre, 
 My sinnes and I joining together. 
 
 But while I grow in a straight Kne, 29 
 
 Still upwards bent, as if heav'n were mine own. 
 
 Thy anger comes, and I decline. 
 What frost to that ? What pole is not the zone 
 Where all things burn, 
 When thou dost turn. 
 And the least frown of thine is shown ? 35 
 
 And now in age I bud again. 
 After so many deaths I live and write; 
 
 1 once more smell the dew and rain. 
 And relish versing. O my onely light. 
 
 It cannot be 40 
 
 That I am he 
 On whom thy tempests fell all night. 
 
 These are thy wonders. Lord of love. 
 To make us see we are but flowers that glide. 
 
 Which when we once can finde and prove, 
 Thou hast a garden for us where to bide. 46 
 
 Who would be more, 
 Swelling through store, 
 Forfeit their Paradise by their pride. 
 
XI 
 
 DEATH 
 
PREFACE 
 
 IN the parish record of Bemerton appears this 
 entry: "Mr. George Herbert Esq., Parson of 
 Fuggleston and Bemerton, was buried 3 day of 
 March 1632." This record is confirmed by Her- 
 bert's will, which was proved on March 12, 1632. 
 As the new year then began on Lady Day, March 
 25, the year would be our 1633. This date is con- 
 firmed by Herbert's letter to Ferrar, inclosing his 
 Notes on Valdesso, which bears date of September 
 29, 1632; and by the will of his niece, which was 
 proved by Herbert in October, 1632. Herbert 
 was instituted on April 26, 1630, so that the life 
 at Bemerton covered almost exactly three years. 
 Aubrey tells how Herbert " was buried (according 
 to his own desire) with the singing service for the 
 burial of the dead, by the singing men of Sarum." 
 He was laid, according to Walton, "in his own 
 Church under the Altar, and cover'd with a Grave- 
 stone without any inscription." He died without 
 issue. His wife, whom Aubrey thought a strikingly 
 handsome woman, a few years later married Sir 
 Robert Cook, and by him had children. 
 
 Herbert had long notice of death. Consumption 
 overcame him slowly, and allowed him to retain 
 his mental powers to the last. Until within a few 
 
374 PREFACE TO 
 
 months of the end, he read Prayers each day in the 
 little chapel opposite his house. And though a 
 month before his death Mr. Duncon, sent by Fer- 
 rar, found him unable to sit up, his discourse was 
 such, Mr. Duncon told Walton, " that after almost 
 forty years it remained still fresh in his memory." 
 The Sunday before he died he sang his own songs, 
 accompanying himself as usual on the lute. Ac- 
 cording to Walton he died without pain, in his last 
 hour speaking with his family and friend about 
 religion, business, and the care of those he was to 
 leave. 
 
 To this fact, that Herbert's long dying was a life 
 in death, we owe the splendid series of his death- 
 songs. A few of those included in the preceding 
 Group may possibly belong to the period of Crisis; 
 but the great body of them, and probably all that 
 appear in the present Group, spring from the last 
 year or two of Herbert's Hfe. As we have seen, 
 every phase of his inner moods was interesting to 
 him, and easily became a poetic subject out of 
 which something beautiful might be fashioned. If 
 because our distresses do not so readily put on 
 a coat of joy, we sometimes hold it half a sin that 
 Herbert should put in words the grief he feels, 
 we should remember that he published none of 
 his poems, and that in poetry he probably found 
 one of his few defences against pain. Wounded I 
 sing ; tormented I indite, he says. By objectifying 
 his experiences he detaches himself from them. 
 
DEATH 375 
 
 Donne in his Triple Fool had tried this pallia- 
 tive: 
 
 " As th* earth's inward narrow crooked lanes 
 Do purge sea-water's fretful salt away, 
 I thought if I could draw my pains 
 
 Through rhyme's vexation, I should them allay. 
 Grief brought to numbers cannot be so fierce. 
 For he tames it that fetters it in verse." 
 
 I have thought it well to gather into a brief final 
 Group Herbert's poems which refer to approaching 
 death. How unlike they are to the clever verses 
 written at Cambridge on the same subject ! All the 
 poems of this Group have in them the note of real- 
 ity, whether hke The Forerunners and Life 
 they mourn the cessation of his verse, hke Grief 
 and Home utter an anguished cry, like The 
 Glance and The Dawning turn to the sweet 
 originall joy of God's love, or like Vertue, Time, 
 and A Dialogue-Antheme, sport with the im- 
 potence of death. In all of them there is veritable 
 experience carried up into well-ordered beauty. 
 The methods of Herbert's Life did not forsake 
 him in the leaving of it. 
 
376 XI. DEATH 
 
 THE FORERUNNERS 
 
 The harbingers are come. See, see their mark! 
 
 White is their colour, and behold my head! 
 But must they have my brain ? Must they dispark 
 Those sparkling notions which therein were 
 bred ? 
 Must dulnesse turn me to a clod ? 5 
 
 Yet have they left me. Thou art still my God. 
 
 Good men ye be to leave me my best room, 
 Ev'n all my heart, and what is lodged there. 
 
 I passe not, I, what of the rest become, 
 
 So Thou art still my God be out of fear. 10 
 He will be pleased with that dittie; 
 
 And if I please him, I write fine and wittie. 
 
 Farewell sweet phrases, lovely metaphors. 
 
 But will ye leave me thus ? When ye before 
 Of stews and brothels onely knew the doores, 15 
 
 Then did I wash you with my tears, and more, 
 Brought you to Church well drest and clad. 
 My God must have my best, ev'n all I had. 
 
XI. DEATH 377 
 
 Lovely enchanting language, sugar-cane, 
 
 Hony of roses, whither wilt thou flie ? 20 
 
 Hath some fond lover tic'd thee to thy bane ? 
 And wilt thou leave the Church and love a stie ? 
 Fie, thou wilt soil thy broider'd coat, 
 
 And hurt thy self and him that sings the note. 
 
 Let foohsh lovers, if they will love dung, 25 
 
 With canvas, not with arras clothe their shame. 
 
 Let follie speak in her own native tongue. 
 
 True beautie dwells on high. Ours is a flame 
 But borrow' d thence to light us thither. 29 
 
 Beautie and beauteous words should go together. 
 
 Yet if you go, I passe not. Take your way! 
 
 For, Thou art still my God, is all that ye 
 Perhaps with more embellishment can say. 
 
 Go birds of spring ! Let winter have his fee ! 
 Let a bleak palenesse chalk the doore, 35 
 So all within be livelier then before. 
 
378 XI. DEATH 
 
 LIFE 
 
 I MADE a posie while the day ran by. 
 Here will I smell my remnant out, and tie 
 
 My life within this band. 
 But time did becken to the flowers, and they 
 By noon most cunningly did steal away 5 
 
 And wither'd in my hand. 
 
 My hand was next to them, and then my heart. 
 I took, without more thinking, in good part 
 
 Time's gentle admonition; 
 Who did so sweetly death's sad taste convey, 10 
 Making my minde to smell my fatall day. 
 
 Yet sugring the suspicion. 
 
 Farewell deare flowers ! Sweetly your time ye spent, 
 Fit, while ye liv'd, for smell or ornament. 
 
 And after death for cures. 15 
 
 I follow straight without complaints or grief, 
 Since if my scent be good, I care not if 
 
 It be as short as yours. 
 
XI. DEATH 379 
 
 GRIEF 
 
 O WHO will give me tears ? Come all ye springs, 
 
 Dwell in my head and eyes. Come clouds, and 
 rain. 
 My grief hath need of all the watry things 
 
 That nature hath produc'd. Let ev'ry vein 
 Suck up a river to supply mine eyes, 5 
 
 My weary weeping eyes, too drie for me 
 Unlesse they get new conduits, new supplies 
 
 To bear them out, and with my state agree. 
 What are two shallow foords, two little spouts 
 
 Of a lesse world ? The greater is but small, 10 
 A narrow cupboard for my griefs and doubts. 
 
 Which want provision in the midst of all. 
 Verses, ye are too fine a thing, too wise 
 
 For my rough sorrows. Cease, be dumbe and 
 mute, 
 Give up your feet and running to mine eyes, 15 
 
 And keep your measures for some lover's lute. 
 Whose grief allows him musick and a ryme. 
 For mine excludes both measure, tune, and time. 
 Alas, my God! 
 
380 XI. DEATH 
 
 HOME 
 
 Come Lord, my head doth burn, my heart is sick, 
 
 While thou dost ever, ever stay. 
 Thy long deferrings wound me to the quick. 
 My spirit gaspeth night and day. 
 
 O show thy self to me, 5 
 
 Or take me up to thee! 
 
 How canst thou stay, considering the pace 
 
 The bloud did make which thou didst 
 waste ? 
 When I behold it trickling down thy face, 
 
 I never saw thing make such haste. 10 
 
 O show thy, &c. 
 
 When man was lost, thy pitie lookt about 
 To see what help in th* earth or skie. 
 
 But there was none, at least no help without; 15 
 The help did in thy bosome lie. 
 O show thy, &c. 
 
 There lay thy sonne. And must he leave that nest. 
 That hive of sweetnesse, to remove 20 
 
 Thraldome from those who would not at a feast 
 Leave one poore apple for thy love ? 
 O show thy, &c. 
 
XI. DEATH 381 
 
 He did, he came. O my Redeemer deare, 25 
 
 After all this canst thou be strange ? 
 
 So many yeares baptiz'd, and not appeare ? 
 As if thy love could fail or change ? 
 O show thy, &c. 
 
 Yet if thou stayest still, why must I stay ? 31 
 
 My God, what is this world to me, 
 
 This world of wo ? Hence all ye clouds, away. 
 Away! I must get up and see. 
 
 O show thy, &c. 35 
 
 What is this weary world, this meat and drink. 
 That chains us by the teeth so fast ? 
 
 What is this woman-kinde, which I can wink 
 
 Into a blacknesse and distaste ? 40 
 
 O show thy, &c. 
 
 With one small sigh thou gav'st me th' other day 
 I blasted all the joyes about me. 
 
 And scouling on them as they pin'd away, 45 
 Now come again, said I, and flout me. 
 O show thy, &c. 
 
 Nothing but drought and dearth, but bush and 
 brake. 
 Which way so-e*re I look, I see. 50 
 
 Some may dream merrily, but when they wake. 
 
 They dresse themselves and come to thee. 
 O show thy, &c. 
 
382 XI. DEATH 
 
 We talk of harvests ; there are no such things 55 
 But when we leave our corn and hay. 
 
 There is no fruitfull yeare but that which brings 
 The last and lov'd, though dreadfuU day. 
 O show thy, &c. 
 
 Oh loose this frame, this knot of man untie! 
 
 That my free soul may use her wing. 
 Which now is pinion'd with mortalitie. 
 
 As an intangled, hamper'd thing. 
 
 O show thy, &c. 65 
 
 What have I left that I should stay and grone ? 
 
 The most of me to heav'n is fled. 
 My thoughts and joyes are all packt up and gone. 
 
 And for their old acquaintance plead. 70 
 O show thy, &c. 
 
 Come dearest Lord, passe not this holy season, 
 My flesh and bones and joynts do pray. 
 And ev'n my verse, when by the ryme and reason 
 The word is. Stay, sayes ever. Cornel 76 
 O show thy self to me. 
 Or take me up to thee! 
 
XI. DEATH S83 
 
 THE GLANCE 
 
 When first thy sweet and gracious eye 
 Voucbsaf d ev'n in the midst of youth and night 
 To look upon me, who before did He 
 Weltring in sinne, 
 I felt a sugred strange delight, 5 
 
 Passing all cordials made by any art, 
 Bedew, embalme, and overrunne my heart, 
 And take it in. 
 
 Since that time many a bitter storm 
 My soul hath felt, ev'n able to destroy, 10 
 
 Had the mahcious and ill-meaning harm 
 His swing and sway. 
 But still thy sweet originall joy. 
 Sprung from thine eye, did work within my soul. 
 And surging griefs, when they grew bold, controll, 
 And got the day. 16 
 
 If thy first glance so powerfull be, 
 A mirth but open'd and seal'd up again, 
 What wonders shall we feel when we shall see 
 
 Thy full-ey'd love! 20 
 
 When thou shalt look us out of pain, 
 And one aspect of thine spend in delight 
 More then a thousand sunnes disburse in light. 
 In heav'n above. 
 
XI. DEATH 
 
 THE DAWNING 
 
 Awake sad heart, whom sorrow ever drowns ! 
 
 Take up thine eyes, which feed on earth. 
 Unfold thy forehead gathered into frowns. 
 
 Thy Saviour comes, and with him mirth. 
 
 Awake, awake! 5 
 
 And with a thankfull heart his comforts take. 
 
 But thou dost still lament, and pine, and crie. 
 
 And feel his death, but not his victorie. 
 
 Arise sad heart! If thou dost not withstand, 
 
 Christ's resurrection thine may be, 10 
 
 Do not by hanging down break from the hand 
 Which as it riseth, raiseth thee. 
 Arise, arise! 
 And with his buriall-linen drie thine eyes. 
 
 Christ left his grave-clothes that we might, when 
 
 grief 15 
 
 Draws tears or bloud, not want an handkerchief. 
 
XI. DEATH 385 
 
 VERTUE 
 
 Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, 
 
 The bridall of the earth and skie; 
 The dew shall weep thy fall to night, 
 For thou must die. 
 
 Sweet rose, whose hue angrie and brave 5 
 
 Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye; 
 Thy root is ever in its grave, 
 
 Aud thou must die. 
 
 Sweet spring, full of sweet dayes and roses, 
 
 A box where sweets compacted lie; 10 
 
 My musick shows ye have your closes. 
 And all must die. 
 
 Onely a sweet and vertuous soul, 
 
 Like season'd timber, never gives; 
 But though the whole world turn to coal, 15 
 Then chiefly hves. 
 
386 XI. DEATH 
 
 TIME 
 
 Meeting with Time, slack thing, said I, 
 Thy sithe is dull, whet it for shame. 
 No marvell, Sir, he did replie. 
 
 If it at length deserve some blame. 4 
 
 But where one man would have me grinde it, 
 Twentie for one too sharp do finde it. 
 
 Perhaps some such of old did passe, 
 
 Who above all things lov'd this life; 
 To whom thy sithe a hatchet was. 
 
 Which now is but a pruning-knife. 10 
 
 Christ's coming hath made man thy debter. 
 Since by thy cutting he grows better. 
 
XI. DEATH 387 
 
 And in his blessing thou art blest. 
 
 For where thou onely wert before 
 An executioner at best, 15 
 
 Thou art a gard'ner now, and more — 
 An usher to convey our souls 
 Beyond the utmost starres and poles. 
 
 And this is that makes life so long. 
 
 While it detains us from our God. 20 
 Ev'n pleasures here increase the wrong, 
 xAnd length of dayes lengthen the rod. 
 Who wants the place where God doth dwell. 
 Partakes already half of hell. 
 
 Of what strange length must that needs be 
 
 Wliich ev'n eternitie excludes! 26 
 
 Thus farre Time heard me patiently. 
 
 Then chafing said. This man deludes: 
 What do I hear before his doore ? 
 He doth not crave lesse time, but more. 30 
 
388 XI. DEATH 
 
 A DIALOGUE-ANTHEME 
 
 Christian. Death 
 
 Chr. Alas, poore Death, where is thy glorie ? 
 
 Where is thy famous force, thy ancient sting ? 
 Dea. Alas poore mortally void of storie, 3 
 
 Go spell and reade how I have kilVd thy King, 
 Chr. Poore death ! And who was hurt thereby ? 
 
 Thy curse being laid on him, makes thee accurst. 
 Dea. Let losers talk I Yet thou shalt die ; 
 
 These arms shall crush thee. Chr. Spare not, do 
 thy worst. 
 
 I shall be one day better then before; 
 
 Thou so much worse that thou shalt be no 
 more. 10 
 
XII 
 ADDITIONAL AND DOUBTFUL POEMS 
 
PREFACE 
 
 BESIDES the poems composing The Temple, 
 Herbert wrote other verse. That there was a 
 considerable body of this, and that it was of a secu- 
 lar sort, has often been asserted. But the assertion 
 rests on no evidence, and in my larger work I have 
 shown that it is inherently improbable. There are, 
 however, a few additional poems which evidence of 
 varying degrees of worth connects with Herbert's 
 name, and these I gather into a final Group. 
 
 A few of those printed in my large edition I here 
 reject. As shown there it is improbable that Her- 
 bert ever saw the lines to the Queen of Bohemia, 
 or those to Lord Danvers and Sir John Danvers. 
 Some of the Psalms there printed he may have 
 written; but if so, they were justly rejected as 
 unworthy to stand beside his beautiful rendering 
 of The Twenty-Third Psalm. The Paradox 
 has his name written upon it by an unknown 
 copyist, and Nahum Tate^ thought The Convert 
 his. But none of these can be traced directly to 
 his hand. 
 
 The case is different with The Holy Commu- 
 nion, Love, Trinitie-Sunday, Even-Song, The 
 Knell, and Perseverance. These appear in the 
 Williams Manuscript, intermingled with its other 
 
S92 PREFACE TO 
 
 poems. That manuscript, containing nearly half of 
 the poems subsequently published in The Tem- 
 ple, certainly originated in Herbert's study. Its 
 general handwriting is that of a copyist; but its 
 many corrections and its large body of Latin poems 
 are in Herbert's hand. We must therefore accept 
 these poems as his, or else suppose that, though 
 composed by some one else, he had them copied as 
 favorites into a book of his own verse. But their 
 inferiority of style is quite as grave an objection to 
 this supposition as to his own authorship. They 
 must then be classed among his refuse work. In 
 the years that intervened between the composition 
 of the Wilhams Manuscript and his death his taste 
 had ripened. Having already written other poems 
 on The Holy Communion, Love, and Trinitie- 
 SuNDAY, he rejected these, wrote later a substitute 
 for the EvEN-SoNG, and struck out The Knell 
 and Perseverance altogether. While these poems 
 in themselves are youthful and of small aesthetic 
 value, they are of importance as showing that Her- 
 bert did not preserve all his verse, but finally left 
 for the printer only such as his critical taste ap- 
 proved. 
 
 Only one of the poems in this Group was so 
 approved. The Church Militant. It is one of 
 his four long and labored poems, and may have 
 been designed as a kind of counterpart to The 
 Church-Porch. Ferrar printed it as an appendix 
 or third part of The Temple. The name, The 
 
ADDITIONAL POEMS 393 
 
 Temple, does not appear in the Williams Manu- 
 script, which has no title-page. The running-title 
 at the head of the pages is The Church. This 
 is also the running-title of the central portion of the 
 book as finally printed. Perhaps, then, Herbert's 
 plan — or Ferrar's — was to call the total work 
 The Temple, and to let it consist of three parts : 
 the main structure, conceived as The Church 
 itself, with two adjuncts, — The Church-Porch, 
 and The Church Militant. Yet the first two 
 divisions are related so much more closely to each 
 other than is either to the third that The Church 
 Militant may probably better be regarded as an 
 altogether detached piece. Between The Church- 
 Porch and The Church the lines of Superlimi- 
 NARE are inserted as a connecting fink, while at 
 the close of The Church stands the word FINIS 
 and a Gloria. There seems, therefore, to be an 
 intended detachment of The Church Militant 
 from the whole framework of The Temple. The 
 Envoy after The Church Militant must mark 
 the close of this poem, and not of the entire book. 
 To preserve this detachment, I adopt the tradi- 
 tional arrangement and place The Church Mili- 
 tant after the other authenticated poems. But it 
 might well stand before them. To make plain the 
 course of Herbert's development we should place it 
 just after the Sonnets to his Mother. I, at least, 
 have no doubt that it is his earliest considerable 
 piece. Its style is more influenced by Donne than 
 
394 PREFACE TO 
 
 is that of any of his other poems except the two 
 Sonnets of 1610. There is an indication, too, of 
 youth in the fact that wliile no half-page of The 
 Church Militant shows sustained ease and mas- 
 tery, one comes upon single lines of exceptional 
 depth and promise, e. g. : 
 
 Doing nought 
 Which doth not meet with an etemall thought. 
 
 The sunne, though forward be his flight. 
 Listens hehinde him and allows some light 
 Till all depart. 
 
 How low is he, 
 If God and man be severed infinitely ! 
 
 Setting affliction to encounter pleasure. 
 
 In vice the copie still exceeds 
 The pattern, but not so in vertuous deeds. 
 
 Bits of poetry like these, shining among lines 
 which are too often declamatory, forced, and ob- 
 scure, declare the age and promise of their author. 
 Nor is objective evidence of an early date lacking. 
 In line 242 the Thames is said to be in danger 
 of pollution through mingling its stream with the 
 Seine. Herbert was too good a courtier to have 
 written so after 1624, when Prince Charles was be- 
 trothed to Henrietta Maria, the French Princess. 
 The allusion, too, to America as the land of gold 
 (1. 250) would be more natural at the time when 
 the Virginia Trading Company was in full activity 
 
ADDITIONAL POEMS 395 
 
 and hope than in the years after its dissolution in 
 1623. 
 
 But although The Church Militant is early, 
 immature, and difficult in style, in its subject and 
 method of treatment it is of marked originality ; for 
 it is, so far as I can discover, the first sketch of gen- 
 eral Church history in our language. Single periods 
 of that history had been already treated, as by 
 Bede in his account of the English Church. Lives 
 of the Saints had been written, and studies of 
 Christian Antiquity. Of controversial works, like 
 Bishop Jewel's Apology, there was no lack. But 
 hitherto no Englishman had attempted to survey 
 the progress of the Church as it came forth from 
 little Judaea and mightily overran all the lands of 
 the West. This dramatic theme Herbert seized, 
 treated it in bold outhne, and made of his poem 
 a veritable landmark in English ecclesiastical his- 
 tory. In this, as in religious poetry, he is the pioneer 
 of a large company. But he could not bring his ex- 
 periments in this field so near perfection as he did 
 in that of the religious love-lyric. There he needed 
 only to explore his own soul, while for even a good 
 outline of Church history a solid body of scholar- 
 ship was necessary ; and this at that time was inac- 
 cessible. Herbert's account is accordingly, like all 
 early history, inaccurate, partisan, and often cred- 
 ulous. It is an astonishing evidence of the inde- 
 pendence of his mind that it was written at all, and 
 in all probability written before he was thirty years 
 
396 PREFACE TO 
 
 of age. That this priority of Herbert in Church his- 
 tory has not been remarked shows how superficial 
 has been the attention bestowed on his widely 
 circulated little book. 
 
 Original, however, as Herbert is in the choice of 
 a historical subject, he is no less original in his 
 treatment of it. Most historians of the Church con- 
 ceive it as an ecclesiastical organization, whose con- 
 struction and vicissitudes they explore, the devel- 
 opment of whose power and ritual they trace, and 
 whose scheme of doctrine they Vindicate. The ene- 
 mies of the Church are accordingly unbelievers, 
 persecuting sovereigns, or nations which refuse to 
 accept its sway. 
 
 With the progress of the Church in this sense 
 Herbert is in no way concerned. What interests 
 him is the coming of righteousness on earth. The 
 contests of the Church are not with those who 
 question priestly authority. He never alludes to 
 heretics, or creeds, or forms of worship; and when 
 he mentions splendid outward organizations and 
 the consolidation of ecclesiastical power, it is as a 
 sign of danger, if not of decay. He is, in short, true 
 to that conception of the Church continually an- 
 nounced in liis poems, notably in Sion, the con- 
 ception which gave a name to his volume, and which 
 I have abundantly discussed in sections of my 
 large edition. He means by the Church the loving, 
 temptable, aspiring, and ill-harmonized soul of 
 man. It is no external institution. All its frame 
 
ADDITIONAL POEMS 397 
 
 and fabrick is within. The Church history which 
 he would write is a description of the way in 
 which the new mode of affectionate holiness re- 
 vealed by Jesus Christ has been intermittently 
 adopted and rejected by the nations of Europe. 
 His Church history is accordingly, like that of Jon- 
 athan Edwards afterwards, a genuine History of 
 Redemption. 
 
 It would be an error to claim for Herbert entire 
 originality in this ethical idea of Church history. 
 The greatest of the Fathers had thought of it in 
 somewhat the same w^ay. Augustine's City of God 
 is a spiritual society of the righteous united by 
 allegiance to a common divine Lord. It is true that, 
 while Herbert is a man of piety, Augustine is also 
 a statesman, with a range of vision, a complexity 
 of interests, an acquaintance with men, and a phi- 
 losophic grasp denied to Herbert. But all the niore 
 striking on this account becomes Herbert's inde- 
 pendence. He knew and honored Augustine. He 
 bequeathed a set of his works to his Fuggleston 
 curate, Mr. Bostock. Undoubtedly his thoughts 
 about The Church Militant were initiated by 
 Augustine. But he did not allow himself to be 
 dominated. He took from the City of God only what 
 harmonized with his own individualistic genius, 
 and under the name of The Church Militant 
 pictured the world's growth in personal holiness. 
 
 The poem is divided into five parts, separated 
 from one another by a refrain exalting the wisdom 
 
398 PREFACE TO 
 
 of God. Part I describes the migration of Religion 
 from its early home in the East to its settlement in 
 Egypt; Part II, the advance of Religion through 
 Greece to establish its empire in the West; Part 
 III, the parallel advance of Sin ; Part IV, the 
 conquest of Religion by Sin at Rome ; Part V, the 
 ineffective attempts through reformation to set 
 Religion free from Sin, and the probabihty of far- 
 ther struggle in future as the two move together 
 through America westward. 
 
 In my fifth Essay is related the curious refusal 
 of the Vice-Chancellor to Ucense Herbert's book on 
 account of fines 235 and 236 of The Church 
 Militant : 
 
 Religion stands on tip-toe in our land^ 
 Readie to passe to the American strand. 
 
 This passage, as also fine 247, might suggest that 
 Herbert was thinking of the Puritan migration, the 
 only colonization ever undertaken from England 
 with religious aims. Such thoughts are natural for 
 us in looking back, but not for him when looking 
 forward. Even if the dates allowed, we cannot sup- 
 pose that he would have sympathized with com- 
 panies of obscure and wilful sectaries. That was 
 not his disposition. The Pilgrims, however, did not 
 sail till 1620; the Puritans not till 1628. This lat- 
 ter date was just about the time when the Williams 
 Manuscript was probably drawn up, and in it was 
 included The Church Militant. At the time 
 
ADDITIONAL POEMS 399 
 
 when the poem was written the Puritan migration 
 was a small affair, and had attracted little atten- 
 tion. It is the Virginia Colony to which Herbert 
 refers, that aristocratic colony with which his 
 friend Ferrar was connected. What he has in mind 
 is made clearer by a passage of The Country 
 Parson, XXXII, in which he is planning work 
 for younger sons : If the young Gallant think these 
 Courses dull and phlegmatick, where can he busie 
 himself better than in those new Plantations and dis- 
 covery es which are not only a noble but also, as they 
 may be handled, a religious imployment ? He sim- 
 ply means that on fresh soil religion has fresh 
 opportunities. No other reference to America in 
 The Temple speaks of it as religious ground. 
 
 From this Group of Additional Poems I have 
 withdrawn three as having special importance 
 elsewhere. The lines reported by Walton as in- 
 scribed in the Bemerton Parsonage I have placed 
 at the beginning of Group VIII. The Sonnets of 
 1610 mark the rise of that Resolve which is set 
 forth with early ardor, assurance, and comprehen= 
 siveness in the poems of Group II. 
 
400 XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 
 
 THE CHURCH MILITANT 
 
 Almightie Lord, who from thy glorious throne 
 Seest and rulest all things ev*n as one* 
 The smallest ant or atome knows thy power. 
 Known also to each minute of an houre. 4 
 
 Much more do Common-weals acknowledge thee 
 And wrap their policies in thy decree. 
 Complying with thy counsels, doing nought 
 Which doth not meet with an eternall thought. 
 But above all, thy Church and Spouse doth prove 
 Not the decrees of power, but bands of love. 10 
 Early didst thou arise to plant this vine. 
 Which might the more indeare it to be thine. 
 Spices come from the East; so did thy Spouse, 
 Trimme as the light, sweet as the laden boughs 
 Of Noah's shadie vine, chaste as the dove, 15 
 Prepared and fitted to receive thy love. 
 The course was westward, that the sunne might 
 
 light 
 As well our understanding as our sight. 
 Where th* Ark did rest, there Abraham began 
 To bring the other Ark from Canaan. 20 
 
XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 401 
 
 Moses pursu'd this, but King Solomon 
 Finish'd and fixt the old rehgion. 
 When it grew loose, the Jews did hope in vain 
 By nailing Christ to fasten it again; 
 But to the Gentiles he bore crosse and all, 25 
 Rending with earthquakes the partition-wall. 
 Onely whereas the iVrk in glorie shone. 
 Now with the crosse, as with a staff e, alone, 
 Religion, like a pilgrime, westward bent, 
 Knocking at all doores ever as she went. 30 
 
 Yet as the sunne, though forward be his flight, 
 Listens behinde him and allows some light 
 Till all depart; so went the Church her way. 
 Letting, while one foot stept, the other stay 
 Among the eastern nations for a time, 35 
 
 Till both removed to the western clime. 
 To Egypt first she came, where they did prove 
 Wonders of anger once, but now of love. 
 The ten Commandments there did flourish more 
 Then the ten bitter plagues had done before. 40 
 Holy Macarius and great Anthonie 
 Made Pharaoh Moses, changing th' historic. 
 Goshen was darknesse, Egypt full of lights, 
 Nilus for monsters brought forth Israelites. 44 
 Such power hath mightie Baptisme to produce 
 For things misshapen, things of highest use. 
 How deare to me, O God, thy counsels are I 
 Who may with thee compare ? 
 
402 XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 
 
 Religion thence fled into Greece, where arts 
 
 Gave her the highest place in all men's hearts. 50 
 
 Learning was pos'd, Philosophic was set, 
 
 Sophisters taken in a fisher's net. 
 
 Plato and Aristotle were at a losse 
 
 And wheel'd about again to spell Christ-Crosse. 
 
 Prayers chas'd syllogismes into their den, 55 
 
 And Ergo was transform'd into Amen. 
 
 Though Greece took horse as soon as Egypt did. 
 
 And Rome as both, yet Egypt faster rid. 
 
 And spent her period and prefixed time 59 
 
 Before the other. Greece being past her prime, 
 
 Religion went to Rome, subduing those 
 
 Who, that they might subdue, made all their foes. 
 
 The Warrier his deere skarres no more resounds. 
 
 But seems to yeeld Christ hath the greater wounds. 
 
 Wounds willingly endur'd to work his blisse 65 
 
 Who by an ambush lost his Paradise. 
 
 The great heart stoops and taketh from the dust 
 
 A sad repentance, not the spoils of lust. 
 
 Quitting his spear, lest it should pierce again 
 
 Him in his members who for him was slain. 70 
 
 The Shepherd's hook grew to a scepter here. 
 
 Giving new names and numbers to the yeare. 
 
 But th' Empire dwelt in Greece, to comfort them 
 
 Who were cut short in Alexander's stemme. 
 
XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 403 
 
 In both of these Prowesse and Arts did tame 75 
 And tune men's hearts against the Gospel came; 
 Which using, and not fearing skill in th' one, 
 Or strength in th' other, did erect her throne. 
 Many a rent and struggling th' Empire knew, 
 (As dying things are wont) untill it flew 80 
 
 At length to Germanie, still westward bending, 
 And there the Churches festivall attending; 
 That as before Empire and Arts made way, 
 (For no lesse Harbingers would serve then they) 
 So they might still, and point us out the place 
 Where first the Church should raise her downcast 
 face. 86 
 
 Strength levels grounds, xArt makes a garden there. 
 Then showres Religion and makes all to bear. 
 Spain in the Empire shar'd with Germanie, 
 But England in the higher victorie; 90 
 
 Giving the Church a crown to keep her state 
 And not go lesse then she had done of late. 
 Constantine's British line meant this of old. 
 And did this mysterie wrap up and fold 
 Within a sheet of paper, which was rent 95 
 
 From time's great Chronicle and hither sent. 
 Thus both the Church and Sunne together ran 
 Unto the farthest old meridian. 
 How deare to me, O God, thy counsels are I 
 
 Who may with thee compare ? 100 
 
404 XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 
 
 Much about one and the same time and place 
 Both where and when the Church began her race, 
 Sinne did set out of Eastern Babylon 
 And travell'd westward also. Journeying on 
 He chid the Church away where e're he came, 105 
 Breaking her peace and tainting her good name. 
 At first he got to Egypt and did sow 
 Gardens of gods, which ev'ry yeare did grow 
 Fresh and fine deities. They were at great cost 
 Who for a god clearely a sallet lost. 110 
 
 Ah, what a thing is man devoid of grace, 
 Adoring garlick with an humble face. 
 Begging his food of that which he may eat. 
 Starving the while he worshippeth his meat! 
 Who makes a root his god, how low is he, 115 
 If God and man be sever'd infinitely! 
 What wretchednesse can give him any room 
 Whose house is foul, while he adores his broom.'' 
 None will beleeve this now, though money be 
 In us the same transplanted foolerie. 120 
 
 Thus Sinne in Egypt sneaked for a while; 
 His highest was an ox or crocodile 
 And such poore game. Thence he to Greece doth 
 
 passe ; 
 And being craftier much then Goodnesse was. 
 He left behinde him garrisons of sinnes 125 
 
 To make good that which ev'ry day he winnes. 
 Here Sinne took heart, and for a garden-bed 
 Rich shrines and oracles he purchased. 
 
XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 405 
 
 He grew a gallant and would needs foretell 
 As v/ell what should befall as what befell. 130 
 Nay, he became a poet, and would serve 
 His pills of sublimate in that conserve. 
 The world came both with hands and purses full 
 To this great lotterie, and all would pull. 
 But all was glorious cheating, brave deceit, 135 
 Where some poore truths were shuffled for a bait 
 To credit him, and to discredit those 
 Who after him should braver truths disclose. 
 From Greece he went to Rome; and as before 
 He was a God, now he's an Emperour. 140 
 
 Nero and others lodg'd him bravely there, 
 Put him in trust to rule the Romane sphere. 
 Glorie was his chief instrument of old, 
 Pleasure succeeded straight when that grew cold. 
 WTiich soon was blown to such a mightie flame 145 
 That though our Saviour did destroy the game, 
 Disparking oracles and all their treasure. 
 Setting affliction to encounter pleasure. 
 Yet did a rogue with hope of carnall joy 
 Cheat the most subtill nations. Who so coy, 150 
 So trimme, as Greece and Egypt ? Yet their hearts 
 Are given over, for their curious arts, 
 To such Mahometan stupidities 
 As the old heathen would deem prodigies. 
 How deare to me, O God, thy counsels are ! 155 
 Who may with thee compare ? 
 
406 XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 
 
 Onely the West and Rome do keep them free 
 
 From this contagious infidehtie. 
 
 And this is all the Rock whereof they boast, 
 
 As Rome will one day finde unto her cost. 160 
 
 Sinne being not able to extirpate quite 
 
 The Churches here, bravely resolv'd one night 
 
 To be a Church-man too and wear a Mitre; 
 
 The old debauched ruffian would turn writer. 
 
 I saw him in his studie, where he sate 165 
 
 Busie in controversies sprung of late. 
 
 A gown and pen became him wondrous well. 
 
 His grave aspect had more of heav'n then hell: 
 
 Onely there was a handsome picture by, 
 
 To which he lent a corner of his eye. 170 
 
 As Sinne in Greece a Prophet was before. 
 
 And in old Rome a mightie Emperour, 
 
 So now being Priest he plainly did professe 
 
 To make a jest of Christ's three offices; 
 
 The rather since his scatter'd jugglings were 175 
 
 United now in one, both time and sphere. 
 
 From Egypt he took pettie deities, 
 
 From Greece oracular infallibilities, 
 
 And from old Rome the libertie of pleasure 
 
 By free dispensings of the Churches treasure. 180 
 
 Then in memoriall of his ancient throne 
 
 He did surname his palace, Babylon. 
 
XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 407 
 
 Yet that he might the better gain all nations, 
 And make that name good by their transmigra- 
 tions 
 From all these places, but at divers times, 185 
 He took fine vizards to conceal his crimes. 
 From Egypt Anchorisme and retirednesse. 
 Learning from Greece, from old Rome statelinesse ; 
 And blending these he carri'd all men's eyes, 
 While Truth sat by counting his victories. 190 
 Whereby he grew apace and scorn' d to use 
 Such force as once did captivate the Jews, 
 But did bewitch and finely work each nation 
 Into a voluntarie transmigration. 
 All poste to Rome. Princes submit their necks 
 Either t' his publick foot or private tricks. 196 
 It did not fit his gravitie to stirre. 
 Nor his long journey, nor his gout and furre. 
 Therefore he sent out able ministers. 
 Statesmen within, without doores cloisterers, 200 
 AVho without spear, or sword, or other drumme 
 Then what was in their tongue, did overcome; 
 And having conquer'd, did so strangely rule. 
 That the whole world did seem but the Pope's 
 
 mule. 
 As new and old Rome did one Empire twist, 205 
 So both together are one Antichrist, 
 Yet with two faces, as their Janus was. 
 Being in this their old crackt looking-glasse. 
 How deare to me, O God, thy counsels are ! 
 
 Who may with thee compare ? 210 
 
408 XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 
 
 Thus Sinne triumphs in Western Babylon, 
 
 Yet not as Sinne, but as Rehgion. 
 
 Of his two thrones he made the latter best, 
 
 And to defray his journey from the east. 
 
 Old and new Babylon are to hell and night 215 
 
 As is the moon and sunne to heav'n and light. 
 
 When th' one did set, the other did take place, 
 
 Confronting equally the law and grace. 
 
 They are hell's land-marlvs, Satan's double crest. 
 
 They are Sinne's nipples, feeding th' east and west. 
 
 But as in vice the copie still exceeds 221 
 
 The pattern, but not so in vertuous deeds; 
 
 So though Sinne made his latter seat the better, 
 
 The latter Church is to the first a debter. 
 
 The second Temple could not reach the first. 
 
 And the late reformation never durst 226 
 
 Compare with ancient times and purer yeares. 
 
 But in the Jews and us deserveth tears. 
 
 Nay, it shall ev'ry yeare decrease and fade. 
 
 Till such a darknesse do the world invade 230 
 
 At Christ's last coming as his first did finde. 
 
 Yet must there such proportions be assign 'd 
 
 To these diminishings as is between 
 
 The spacious world and Jurie to be seen. 
 
XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 409 
 
 Religion stands on tip-toe in our land, 235 
 
 Readie to passe to the American strand. 
 When height of malice and prodigious lusts, 
 Impudent sinning, witchcrafts, and distrusts 
 (The marks of future bane) shall fill our cup 
 Unto the brimme and make our measure up; 
 When Sei7i shall swallow Tiber, and the Thames 
 By letting in them both pollutes her streams. 
 When Italie of us shall have her will, 243 
 
 And all her calender of sinnes fulfill ; 
 Whereby one may fortell what sinnes next yeare 
 Shall both in France and England domineer; 
 Then shall Religion to America flee. 
 They have their times of Gospel ev'n as we. 
 ]\Iy God, thou dost prepare for them a way 
 By carrying first their gold from them away; 250 
 For gold and grace did never yet agree. 
 Religion alwaies sides with povertie. 
 We think we rob them, but we think amisse; 
 W^e are more poore, and they more rich by this. 
 Thou wilt revenge their quarrell, making grace 
 To pay our debts, and leave our ancient place 
 To go to them, while that which now their nation 
 But lends to us shall be our desolation. 
 
410 XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 
 
 Yet as the Church shall thither westward flie, 
 So Sinne shall trace and dog her instantly. 260 
 They have their period also and set times 
 Both for their vertuous actions and their crimes. 
 And where of old the Empire and the Arts 
 Usher'd the Gospel ever in men's hearts, 
 Spain hath done one ; when Arts perform the 
 
 other, 265 
 
 The Church shall come, and Sinne the Church 
 
 shall smother. 
 That when they haue accomplished the round, 
 And met in th' east their first and ancient sound. 
 Judgement may meet them both and search them 
 
 round. 269 
 
 Thus do both lights, as well in Church as Sunne, 
 Light one another and together runne. 
 Thus also Sinne and Darknesse follow still 
 The Church and Sunne with all their power and 
 
 skill. 
 But as the Sunne still goes both west and east. 
 So also did the Church by going west 275 
 
 Still eastward go; because it drew more neare 
 To time and place where judgement shall appeare. 
 How deare to me, O God, thy counsels are I 
 Who may with thee compare 9 
 
XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 411 
 
 L'ENVOY 
 
 King of glorie. King of peace, 
 
 With the one make warre to cease; 
 
 With the other blesse thy sheep, 
 
 Thee to love, in thee to sleep. 
 
 Let not Sinne devoure thy fold, 5 
 
 Bragging that thy bloud is cold, 
 
 That thy death is also dead. 
 
 While his conquests dayly spread; 
 
 That thy flesh hath lost his food, 
 
 And thy Crosse is common wood. 10 
 
 Choke him, let him say no more, 
 
 But reserve his breath in store. 
 
 Till thy conquests and his fall 
 
 Make his sighs to use it all, 
 
 And then bargain with the winde 15 
 
 To discharge what is behinde. 
 
 Blessed he God alone. 
 Thrice blessed Three in One. 
 
 FINIS 
 
412 XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 
 
 THE HOLY COMMUNION 
 
 O GRATious Lord, how shall I know 
 Whether in these gifts thou bee so 
 
 As thou art everywhere? 
 Or rather so as thou alone 
 Tak'st all the Lodging, leaving none 5 
 
 For thy poore creature there. 
 
 First I am sure, whether Bread stay. 
 Or whether Bread doe fly away, 
 
 Concerneth Bread, not mee; 
 But that both thou and all thy traine 10 
 
 Bee there, to thy truth and my gaine, 
 
 Concerneth mee and Thee. 
 
 And if in comming to thy foes 
 
 Thou dost come first to them, that showes 
 
 The hast of thy good will. 15 
 
 Or if that thou two stations makest. 
 In Bread and mee, the way thou takest 
 
 Is more, but for mee still. 
 
 Then of this also I am siire, 
 
 That thou didst all those pains endure 20 
 
 To abolish Sinn, not Wheat. 
 Creatures are good and have their place. 
 Sinn onely, which did all deface. 
 
 Thou drivest from his seat. 
 
XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 413 
 
 I could beleeve an Impanation 25 
 
 At the rate of an Incarnation, 
 
 If thou hadst dyde for Bread. 
 But that which made my soule to dye. 
 My flesh and fleshly villany, 
 
 That allso made thee dead. 30 
 
 That Flesh is there mine eyes deny. 
 And what should flesh but flesh discry, 
 
 The noblest sence of five ? 
 If glorious bodies pass the sight, 34 
 
 Shall they be food and strength and might. 
 
 Even there where they deceive ? 
 
 Into my soule tliis cannot pass. 
 
 Flesh (though exalted) keeps his grass, 
 
 And cannot turn to soule. 
 Bodyes and Minds are different spheres, 40 
 Nor can they change their bounds and meres. 
 
 But keep a constant pole. 
 
 This gift of all gifts is the best. 
 Thy flesh the least that I request. 
 
 Thou took'st that pledge from mee. 45 
 Give mee not that I had before, 
 Or give mee that so I have more. 
 
 My God, give mee all Thee. 
 
414 XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 
 
 LOVE 
 
 Thou art too hard for me in Love. 
 There is no deahng wth thee in that Art. 
 That is thy Masterpeece, I see. 
 When I contrive and plott to prove 
 Something that may be conquest on my part, 5 
 Thou still, O Lord, outstrippest mee. 
 
 Sometimes, whenas I wash, I say, 
 And shrodely as I think. Lord wash my soule. 
 More spotted then my flesh can bee. 
 But then there comes into my way 10 
 
 Thy ancient baptism, which when I was foule 
 And knew it not, yet cleansed mee. 
 
 I took a time when thou didst sleep, 
 Great waves of trouble combating my brest; 
 I thought it brave to praise thee then. 15 
 Yet then I found that thou didst creep 
 Into my hart wth ioye, giving more rest 
 Then flesh did lend thee back agen. 
 
 Let mee but once the conquest have 
 Vpon the matter, 'twill thy conquest prove. 20 
 If Thou subdue mortalitie. 
 Thou dost no more then doth the grave. 
 Whereas if I orecome thee and thy Love, 
 
 Hell, Death, and Divel come short of mee. 
 
XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 415 
 
 TRINITIE-SUNDAY 
 
 He that is one 
 
 Is none. 
 
 Two reacheth thee 
 In some degree. 
 
 Nature and Grace 5 
 
 With Glory may attaine thy Face. 
 Steele and a flint strike fire. 
 Witt and desire 
 Never to thee aspire 
 Except life catch and hold those fast. 10 
 
 That which beleefe 
 Did not confess in the first Theefe 
 
 His fall can tell 
 From Heaven through Earth to Hell. 
 Lett two of those alone 15 
 
 To them that fall, 
 Who God and Saints and Angels loose at last. 
 Hee that has one 
 Has all. 
 
416 XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 
 
 EVEN-SONG 
 
 The Day is spent, and hath his will on mee. 
 
 I and the Sunn have runn our races. 
 
 I went the slower, yet more paces; 
 For I decay, not hee. 
 
 Lord, make my Losses up, and sett mee free; 
 That I, who cannot now by day 6 
 
 Look on his daring brightnes, may 
 
 Shine then more bright then hee. 
 
 If thou deferr this Hght, then shadow mee; 
 
 Least that the Night, earth's gloomy shade. 
 Fouling her nest, my earth invade, 11 
 
 As if shades knew not thee. 
 
 But thou art light and darknes both togeather. 
 If that bee dark we cannot see. 
 The sunn is darker than a tree, 15 
 
 And thou more dark then either. 
 
 Yet thou art not so dark since I know this 
 But that my darknes may touch thine, 
 And hope, that may teach it to shine, 
 
 Since Light thy Darknes is. 20 
 
 O lett my soule, whose keyes I must deliver 
 Into the hands of senceles Dreams 
 Which know not thee, suck in thy beams 
 
 And wake with thee for ever. 
 
XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 417 
 
 THE KNELL 
 
 The Bell doth tolle. 
 Lord, help thy servant whose perplexed soule 
 
 Doth wishly look 
 
 On either hand, 
 And sometimes offers, sometimes makes a stand, 
 
 Struggling on th' hook. 6 
 
 Now is the season. 
 Now the great combat of our flesh and reason. 
 
 O help, my God! 
 
 See, they breake in, 10 
 
 Disbanded humours, sorrows, troops of Sinn, 
 
 Each with his rodd. 
 
 Lord make thy blood 
 Convert and colour all the other flood 
 
 And streams of grief, 15 
 
 That they may bee 
 Julips and Cordials when wee call on thee 
 
 For some relief. 
 
418 XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 
 
 PERSEVERANCE 
 
 My God the poore expressions of my Love, 
 Which warme these Hnes and serve them up to 
 thee 
 Are so as for the present I did move, 
 Or rather as thou movedst mee. 
 
 But what shall issue, — whether these my words 5 
 
 Shall help another but my iudgment bee. 
 As a burst fouling-peece doth save the birds 
 But kill the man, — is seal'd with thee. 
 
 For who can tell though thou hast dyde to winn 
 And wedd my soule in glorious paradise, 10 
 Whether my many crymes and use of sinn 
 May yet forbid the banns and bliss ? 
 
 Onely my soule hangs on thy promisses, 
 
 Wth face and hands clinging unto thy brest; 
 
 CHnging and crying, crying without cease, 15 
 
 Thou art my rocky thou art my rest. 
 
INDEXES 
 
INDEX OF TITLES 
 
 Aaron, 218. 
 
 Affliction, 128, 180, 350, 351, 
 
 352. 
 Agonie, 287. 
 
 To All Angels and Saints, 88. 
 The Altar, 67. 
 Anagram, 293. 
 The Answer, 185. 
 Antiphon, 57, 242. 
 Artillerie, 190. 
 Assurance, 325. 
 Avarice, 268. 
 
 The Bag, 289. 
 
 The Banquet, 237. 
 
 H. Baptisme, 101, 102. 
 
 Bitter-Sweet, 34-1. 
 
 The British Church, 262. 
 
 The Bunch of Grapes, 320. 
 
 Businesse, 281. 
 
 The Call, 217. 
 Charms and Knots, 113. 
 Christmas, 90. 
 Church-FIoore, 294. 
 Church-Lock and Kev, 156. 
 The Church Militant^ 400. 
 Church-Monuments, 106. 
 Church-Musick, 105. 
 The Church-Porch, 10. 
 Church-Rents and Schismes, 
 
 264. 
 Clasping of Hands, 229. 
 The Collar. 318. 
 H. Communion, 103, 412. 
 Complaining, 349, 
 Confession, 345. 
 Conscience, 327. 
 Constancie, 271. 
 Content, 186. 
 The Crosse, 328. 
 
 The Dawning, 384. 
 
 Death, 135. 
 Decay, 269. 
 Dedication, xv. 
 Deniall, 154. 
 Dialogue, 194. 
 A Dialogue- Antheme, 388. 
 The Discharge, 307. 
 Discipline, 364. 
 Divinitie, 260. 
 Dooms-Day, 137. 
 Dotage, 280. 
 Dulnesse, 316. 
 
 Easter, 83. 
 Easter Wings, 178. 
 The Elixer, 53. 
 Employment, 55, 184. 
 L'Envoy, 411. 
 Even-Song, 240, 416, 
 
 Faith, 121. 
 
 The Fami!ie, 306. 
 
 The Flower, 368. 
 
 The Foil, 273. 
 
 The Forerunners, 376. ' 
 
 Frailtie, 189. 
 
 Giddinesse, 276. 
 The Glance, 383. 
 The Glimpse, 360. 
 Good Friday, 81. 
 Grace, 161. 
 Gratefulnesse, 231. 
 Grief, 379. 
 
 Grieve not the Holy Spirit, 
 &c., 343. 
 
 Heaven, 140. 
 The Holdfast, 221. 
 Home, 380. 
 Hope, 314. 
 Humilitie, 124. 
 A True Hymne, 225. 
 
422 
 
 INDEX OF TITLES 
 
 Inscription, 250. 
 The Invitation, 235. 
 
 Jesu, 367. 
 The Jews, 266. 
 Jordan, 49, 50. 
 Joseph's Coat, 366. 
 Judgement, 139. 
 Justice, 270, 342. 
 
 The Knell, 417. 
 
 Lent, 92. 
 Life, 378. 
 Longing, 356. 
 Love, 47, 210, 414. 
 Love-Joy, 292. 
 Love Unknown, 333. 
 
 Man, 115. 
 
 Man's Medley, 274. 
 
 Marie Magdalene, 286. 
 
 Mattens, 148. 
 
 The Method, 312. 
 
 Miserie, 129. 
 
 Mortification, 133. 
 
 Nature, 157. 
 
 Obedience, 202. 
 
 The Odour, 223. 
 
 An Offering, 206. 
 
 Our Life is Hid, &c., 147. 
 
 Paradise, 230. 
 A Parodie, 362. 
 Peace, 198. 
 The Pearl, 200. 
 Perseverance, 418. 
 The Pilgrimage, 330. 
 The Posie, 226. 
 Praise, 51, 208, 233. 
 Prayer, 97, 98. 
 The Priesthood, 196j 
 Providence, 251. 
 The 23 Psalme, 222. 
 The Pulley, 285. 
 
 The Quidditie, 52. 
 The Quip, 227. 
 
 Redemption, 123. 
 Repentance, 158. 
 The Reprisall, 152. 
 The Rose, 204. 
 
 The Sacrifice, 68. 
 Saints, vide Angels. 
 Schismes, vide Church- 
 Rents. 
 H. Scriptures, 99. 
 The Search, 322. 
 Self-Condemnation, 267. 
 Sepulchre, 288. 
 Sighs and Grones, 354. 
 Sinne, 119, 120. 
 The Sinner, 153. 
 Sinnes Round, 283. 
 Sion, 348. 
 The Size, 310. 
 The Sonne, 291. 
 Sonnets to his Mother, 45. 
 The Starre, 192. 
 The Storm, 347. 
 Submission, 315. 
 Sunday, 94. 
 Superliminare, 66. 
 
 The Temper, 162, 163. 
 The Thanksgiving, 149. 
 Time, 386. 
 Trinitie-Sunday, 87, 415. 
 
 Ungratefulnesse, 126. 
 Unkindnesse, 160. 
 
 Vanitie, 188, 278. 
 Vertue, 385. 
 
 The Water-Course, 284. 
 Whitsunday, 85. 
 The Windows, 220. 
 The World, 118. 
 A Wreath, 165. 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 A broken Altar, Lord, thy servant reares, 67. 
 
 Ah my deare angrie Lord, 341. 
 
 Alas, poore Death, where is thy glorie.? 388. 
 
 All after pleasures as I rid one day, 90. 
 
 Almightie Judge, how shall poore wretches brook, 139. 
 
 Almightie Lord, who from thy glorious throne, 400. 
 
 And art thou grieved, sweet and sacred Dove, 343. 
 
 As he that sees a dark and shadie grove, 101. 
 
 As I one ev'ning sat before my cell, 190. 
 
 As men, for fear the starres should sleep and nod, 260. 
 
 As on a window late I cast mine eye, 292. 
 
 Awake sad heart, whom sorrow ever drowns! 384. 
 
 Away despair! My gracious Lord doth heare, 289. 
 
 A wreathed garland of deserved praise, 165. 
 
 Blest be the God of love, 240. 
 
 Blest Order, which in power dost so excell, 196. 
 
 Brave rose, (alas!) where art thou.'' In the chair, 264. 
 
 Bright spark, shot from a brighter place, 192. 
 
 Broken in pieces all asunder, 352. 
 
 Busie enquiring heart, what wouldst thou know? 307. 
 
 But that Thou art my wisdome. Lord, 315. 
 
 Canst be idle. f* Canst thou play, 281. 
 
 Come away, 137. 
 
 Come, bring thy gift. If blessings were as slow, 206. 
 
 Come Lord, my head doth burn, my heart is sick, 380. 
 
 Come, my Way, my Truth, my Life, 217. 
 
 Come ye hither all whose taste, 235. 
 
 Content thee, greedie heart, 310. 
 
 Deare Friend, sit down, the tale is long and sad, 303. 
 Death, thou wast once an uncouth hideous thing, 135. 
 Do not beguile my heart, 349. 
 
 False glozing pleasures, casks of happinesse, 280. 
 Full of rebellion, I would die, 157. 
 
 Having been tenant long to a rich Lord, 123. 
 Heark, how the birds do sing, 274. 
 He that is one, 415. 
 
424 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 He that is weary, let him sit, 55. 
 
 HoUnesse on the head, 218. 
 
 How are my foes increased, Lord! 410. 
 
 How fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean, 368. 
 
 How should I praise thee. Lord! How should my rymes, 
 
 163. 
 How soon doth man decay! 133. 
 
 How sweetly doth My Master sound! My Master, 223. 
 How well her name an army doth present, 293. 
 
 I blesse thee, Lord, because I grow, 230. 
 
 I cannot ope mine eyes, 148. 
 
 I cannot skill of these thy wayes, 342. 
 
 If as a flowre doth spread and die, 184. 
 
 If as the windes and waters here below, 347. 
 
 If thou chance for to find, 250. 
 
 If we could see below, 273. 
 
 I gave to Hope a watch of mine; but he, 314. 
 
 I have consider 'd it, and finde, 152. 
 
 1 joy, deare Mother, when I view, 262. 
 
 I know it is my sinne which locks thine eares, 156. 
 
 I know the wayes of learning, both the head, 200. 
 
 I made a posie while the day ran by, 378. 
 
 Immortall Heat, O let thy greater flame, 48. 
 
 Immortall Love, authour of this great frame, 47. 
 
 I saw the Vertues sitting hand in hand, 124. 
 
 1 struck the board, and cry'd, No more, 318. 
 
 It cannot be. Where is that mightie joy, 162. 
 
 I threatned to observe the strict decree, 221. 
 
 I travell'd on, seeing the hill where lay, 330. 
 
 Jesu is in my heart, his sacred name, 367. 
 
 Joy, I did lock thee up, but some bad man, 320, 
 
 Kill me not ev'ry day, 350. 
 
 King of Glorie, King of Peace, 208. 
 
 King of glorie. King of peace, 411. 
 
 Let all the world in ev'ry corner sing, 242. 
 
 Let forrain nations of their language boast, 291. 
 
 Let wits contest, 226. 
 
 Listen, sweet Dove, unto my song, 85. 
 
 Lord, how can man preach thy eternall word.? 220. 
 
 Lord, how couldst thou so much appease, 121. 
 
 Lord, how I am all ague when I seek, 153. 
 
 Lord, I confesse my sinne is great, 158. 
 
 Lord, in my silence how do I despise, 189. 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES 425 
 
 Lord, I will mean and speak thy praise, 233. 
 Lord, let the Angels praise thy name, 129. 
 Lord, make me coy and tender to offend, 160. 
 Lord, my first fruits present themselves to thee, xv. 
 Lord, thou art mine, and I am thine, 229. 
 Lord, who createdst man in wealth and store, 178. 
 Lord, who hast form'd me out of mud, 87. 
 Lord, with what bountie and rare clemencie, 126. 
 Lord, with what care hast thou begirt us round! 120. 
 Lord, with what glorie wast thou serv'd of old, 348. 
 Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back, 210. 
 Love built a stately house; where Fortune came, 118. 
 
 Mark you the floore.'' That square and speckled stone, 294. 
 
 Meeting with Time, slack thing, said I, 386. 
 
 Money, thou bane of blisse and sourse of wo, 268. 
 
 My comforts drop and melt away like snow, 185. 
 
 My God, a verse is not a crown, 52. 
 
 My God, if writings may, 202. 
 
 My God, I heard this day, 115. 
 
 My God, I read this day, 128. 
 
 My God the poore expressions of my Love, 418. 
 
 My God, where is that antient heat towards thee, 45. 
 
 My heart did heave, and there came forth, O God! 351. 
 
 My joy, my life, my crown! 225. 
 
 My stock lies dead, and no increase, 161. 
 
 My words and thoughts do both expresse this notion, 147. 
 
 Not in rich furniture or fine array, 103. 
 
 O blessed bodie! Whither art thou thrown? 288. 
 
 O day most calm, most bright, 94. 
 
 O do not use me, 354. 
 
 O dreadfull Justice, what a fright and terrour, 270. 
 
 Of what an easie quick accesse, 98. 
 
 O gratious Lord, how shall I know, 412. 
 
 Oh all ye who passe by, whose eyes and minde, 68. 
 
 Oh Book! Infinite sweetnesse ! Let my heart, 99. 
 
 Oh glorious spirits, who after all your bands, 88. 
 
 Oh King of grief! A title strange, yet true, 149. 
 
 Oh that I knew how all thy lights combine, 100. 
 
 Oh, what a thing is man ! How farre from power, 276. 
 
 O my chief good, 81. 
 
 O sacred Providence, who from end to end, 251. 
 
 O spitefuU bitter thought! 325. 
 
 O that I could a sinne once see! 119. 
 
 O what a cunning guest, 345. 
 
426 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 O who will give me tears? Come all ye springs, 379. 
 O who will show me those delights on high, 140. 
 
 Peace mutt'ring thoughts, and do not grudge to keep, 186. 
 
 Peace pratler, do not lowre! 327. 
 
 Philosophers have measur'd mountains, 287. 
 
 Poore heart, lament, 312. 
 
 Poore nation, whose sweet sap and juice, 266. 
 
 Poore silly soul, whose hope and head lies low, 188. 
 
 Praised be the God of love, 57. 
 
 Prayer the Churches banquet. Angel's age, 97. 
 
 Presse me not to take more pleasure, 204. 
 
 Rise, heart, thy Lord is risen. Sing his praise, 83. 
 
 Since, Lord, to thee, 102. 
 
 Sorrie I am, my God, sorrie I am, 283. 
 
 Soul's joy, when thou art gone, 362. 
 
 Sure, Lord, there is enough in thee to dry, 46. 
 
 Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, 385. 
 
 Sweetest of sweets, I thank you! When displeasure, 105. 
 
 Sweetest Saviour, if my soul, 194. 
 
 Sweet Peace, where dost thou dwell.'* I humbly crave, 198. 
 
 Sweet were the dayes when thou didst lodge with Lot, 269. 
 
 Teach me, my God and King, 53. 
 
 The Bell doth toUe, 417. 
 
 The Day is spent, and hath his will on mee, 416. 
 
 The fleet Astronomer can bore, 278. 
 
 The God of love my shepherd is, 222. 
 
 The harbingers are come. See, see their mark! 376. 
 
 The merrie world did on a day, 227. 
 
 Thou art too hard for me in Love, 414. 
 
 Thou that hast giv'n so much to me, 231. 
 
 Thou who condemnest Jewish hate, 267. 
 
 Thou who dost dwell and linger here below, 284. 
 
 Thou, whom the former precepts have, 66, 
 
 Thou whose sweet youth and early hopes inhance, 10. 
 
 Throw away thy rod, 364. 
 
 To write a verse or two is all the praise, 51. 
 
 Welcome, deare feast of Lent! Who loves not thee, 92. 
 
 Welcome sweet and sacred cheer, 237. 
 
 What doth this noise of thoughts within my heart, 306. 
 
 What is this strange and uncouth thing! 328. 
 
 When blessed Marie wip'd her Saviour's feet, 286. 
 
 When first my lines of heav'nly joyes made mention, 50. 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES 427 
 
 When first thou didst entice to thee my heart, 180. 
 
 When first thy sweet and gracious eye, 383. 
 
 When God at first made man, 285. 
 
 When my devotions could not pierce, 154. 
 
 While that my soul repairs to her devotion, 106. 
 
 Whither away delight.? 360. 
 
 Whither, O, whither art thou fled, 322. 
 
 Who is the honest man, 271. 
 
 Who reade a chapter when they rise, 113. 
 
 Who says that fictions onely and false hair, 49. 
 
 Why do I languish thus, drooping and dull, 316. 
 
 With sick and famisht eyes, 356. 
 
 Wounded I sing, tormented I indite, 366. 
 
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