George Herbert

I gave to Hope a watch of mine; but he

An Anchor gave to me.

Religion stands on tip-toe in our land,

Ready to pass to the American strand.

Love is that liquor sweet and most divine,

Which my God feels as blood, but I as wine.

Do not beguile my heart,

Because thou art

My power and wisdom. Put me not to shame,

Because I am

Thy clay that weeps, thy dust that calls.

And now in age I bud again,

After so many deaths I live and write;

I once more smell the dew and rain,

And relish versing: O my only light,

It cannot be

That I am he

On whom thy tempests fell all night.

Throw away thy rod,

Throw away thy wrath:

O my God,

Take the gentle path.

A servant with this clause

Makes drudgery divine:

Who sweeps a room, as for thy laws,

Makes that and th' action fine.

He would adore my gifts instead of me,

And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature:

So both should losers be.

You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat:

So I did sit and eat.

Grief melts away

Like snow in May,

As if there were no such cold thing.

With sick and famish'd eyes,

With doubling knees and weary bones,

To thee my cries,

To thee my groans,

To thee my sighs, my tears ascend:

No end?My throat, my soul is hoarse;

My heart is wither'd like a ground

Which thou dost curse.

My thoughts turn round,

And make me giddy; Lord, I fall,

Yet call.

Nothing wears clothes, but Man; nothing doth need

But he to wear them.