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.
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