George Herbert

My tender age in sorrow did begin:

And still with sicknesses and shame

Thou didst so punish sin,

That I became

Most thin.

With thee

Let me combine,

And feel this day thy victory:

For, If I imp my wing on thine,

Affliction shall advance the flight in me

Only a sweet and virtuous soul,

Like season'd timber, never gives;

But though the whole world turn to coal,

Then chiefly lives.

Wouldst thou both eat thy cake and have it?

To write a verse or two is all the praise

That I can raise.

A broken ALTAR, Lord, thy servant rears,

Made of a heart, and cemented with tears;

Whose parts are as thy hand did frame;

No workman's tool hath touch'd the same.

A HEART alone

Is such a stone

As nothing but

Thy pow'r doth cut.

Wherefore each part

Of my hard heart

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 sanctify this ALTAR to be thine.

Man is no star, but a quick coal

Of mortal fire:

Who blows it not, nor doth control

A faint desire,

Lets his own ashes choke his soul.

Like summer friends,

Flies of estate and sunneshine.

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

Of thoughts, and words, and deeds.

Be useful where thou livest.

Be calm in arguing: for fierceness makes

Error a fault, and truth discourtesy.

By all means use sometimes to be alone.

Whether I fly with angels, fall with dust,

Thy hands made both, and I am there;

Thy power and love, my love and trust

Make one place ev'ry where.