George Herbert


                  KILL me not every day,
Thou Lord of life ; since Thy one death for me
          Is more than all my deaths can be,
                     Though I in broken pay,
Die over each hour of Methusalem's stay.

                  If all men's tears were let
Into one common sewer, sea, and brine ;
          What were they all, compared to Thine?
                     Wherein if they were set,
They would discolour Thy most bloody sweat.

                  Thou art my grief alone,
Thou Lord conceal it not ;  and as Thou art
          All my delight, so all my smart :
                     Thy cross took up in one,
By way of imprest, all my future moan.

Herbert, George. The Works of George Herbert in Prose and Verse.
New York: John Wurtele Lovell, 1881. 145-146.

Backto Works of George Herbert

Site ©1996-2001 Anniina Jokinen. All Rights Reserved.
Created by Anniina Jokinen on June 30, 2001.