George Herbert: The Temple

Who in all grief preventeft me*'

Shall I weep bloud? why thou hail wept fuch Acre / That all thy body was one doore.

Shall I be fcourged, flouted, boxed, fold /

*Tis but to tell the tale is told.

My God, my God,zohy doft thou part from me?

Was fuch a grief as cannot be.

Shall I then fing, skipping, thy dolefull ilorie.

And fide with thy triumphant glorie?

Shall thy ilrokes be my ilroking? thorns, my flower?

Thy rod, my pofie f crofle, my bower?

But how then ihall I imitate thee, and

Copie thy fair, though bloudie band?

Sorely I will reuenge me on thy love.

And trie who ihall vi&orious prove.

If thou doll give me wealth; Iwillreilore / All back unto thee by the poore.

If thou doil give me honour; men Ihall fee.

The honour doth belong to thee.

I will not marry; or, if ihe be mine.

She and her children ihall be thine.

My bofome friend, if he blafpheme thy name,

I will tear thence his love and fame.

One half of me being gone, the reft I give / Untofome Chappell, die or live*

As for thy paflion— But of that anon,

When with the other I have done.

For thy predeilination Tie contrive.

That three yeares hence, if I furvive,

B 2 Tie

Tie build a fpittle, or mend common wayes, / But mend mine own without delayes.

Then I will ufe the works of thy creation,

As if I us’d them but for fafhion.

The world and I will quarrell; and the yeare / Shall not perceive, that I am here.

My mufick fhall finde thee, and ev’ry firing / Shall have his attribute to ling;

That all together may accord in thee,

And prove one God, one harmonie.

If thou (halt give me wit, it fhall appeare.

If thou haftgiv’n it me, ’tis here.

Nay, I will reade thy book, and never move / Till I have found therein thy love;

Thy art of love, which Fie turn back on thee, / O my deare Saviour, Vidlorie!

Then for thy paffion-- I will do for that—

Alas, my God, I know not what.

The Reprifall.

X Have confider’d it, and finde / There is no dealing with thy mighty paffion: / For though I die for thee, I am behinde 5

My finnes deferve the condemnation.

O make me innocent, that I / May give a difentangled flate and free:

And yet thy wounds flill my attempts defie, / For by thy death I die for thee.

Ah! was it not enough that thou / By thy eternall glorie did ft outgo me?

Couldft thou not griefs fad conquefts me allow. / But in all vidl’ries overthrow me?

Yet

Yet by confedion will I come / Into the conqued. Though I can do nought / Againd thee,in thee I will overcome