Archives For George Herbert

 

George_Herbert

In honor of the elegant new collection of George Herbert’s poems from Cambridge University Press, here are five of our favorite poems of his that are featured in this new book:

 

George Herbert: 100 Poems

Hardback: Cambridge UP, June 2016.
Buy now: [ Amazon ]

 

The Holdfast
George Herbert

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George_Herbert

Today (Feb. 27) is the Feast Day of George Herbert in the Anglican Church…
Here are a few of our favorite poems of his:

 

Life

George Herbert

I made a posy, while the day ran by:
“Here will I smell my remnant out, and tie
                           My life within this band.”
But Time did beckon to the flowers, and they
By noon most cunningly did steal away,
                           And withered in my hand.

 

My hand was next to them, and then my heart;
I took, without more thinking, in good part
                           Time’s gentle admonition;
Who did so sweetly death’s sad taste convey,
Making my mind to smell my fatal day,
                           Yet, sug’ring the suspicion.

 

Farewell dear flowers, sweetly your time ye spent,
Fit, while ye lived, for smell or ornament,
                           And after death for cures.
I follow straight without complaints or grief,
Since, if my scent be good, I care not if
                           It be as short as yours.

NEXT POEM >>>>>

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The Wake Up CallThe Wake Up Call –
3 April 2013

 

Like the smell of strong coffee wafting down the hall, we offer a few book-related thoughts and stories to jumpstart your day…

 

*** Receive an email with The Wake Up Call (and daily ERB posts) in your inbox each morning! Sign up for The Daily Book Morsel

 


Poem of the Day: “Easter Wings” – George Herbert
(For the season of Easter.) Herbert was born on this day in 1593

 

“Writing is a form of therapy; sometimes I wonder how all those who do not write, compose or paint can manage to escape the madness, melancholia, the panic and fear which is inherent in a human situation.”

Novelist Graham Greene, who died on this day in 1991.
*** Books by Graham Greene 

Book News:

 

Thanks be to God for this new day, may it be full of beauty and grace!

 

The Wake Up Call image via WikiMedia Commons

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Repentance

George Herbert

[Today is the feast of George Herbert, who died on this day in 1633]

*** Books by George Herbert

George HerbertLord, I confess my sin is great;
Great is my sin. Oh! gently treat
With your quick flower, your momentary bloom;
        Whose life still pressing
        Is one undressing,
A steady aiming at a tomb.

 

Man’s age is two hours work, or three:
Each day does round about us see.
Thus are we to delights: but we are all
        To sorrows old,
        If like be told
From what life feels of Adam’s fall. Continue Reading…

 

Christmas
George Herbert

Christmas (I)
After all pleasures as I rid one day,
My horse and I, both tired, body and mind,
With full cry of affections, quite astray;
I took up the next inn I could find.

Continue Reading…

 

“Prayer”
by George Herbert
[ As featured in The Art of the Sonnet ]

PRAYER the Churches banquet, Angels age,
Gods breath in man returning to his birth,
The soul in paraphrase, heart in pilgrimage,
The Christian plummet sounding heav’n and earth ;

Engine against th’ Almightie, sinner’s towre,
Reversed thunder, Christ-side-piercing spear,
The six daies world-transposing in an houre,
A kinde of tune, which all things heare and fear ;

Softnesse, and peace, and joy, and love, and blisse,
Exalted Manna, gladnesse of the best,
Heaven in ordinarie, man well drest,
The milkie way, the bird of Paradise,

Church-bels beyond the stars heard, the souls bloud,
The land of spices, something understood.

 

Easter Wings.
George Herbert.


Lord, who createdst man in wealth and store,
Though foolishly he lost the same,
Decaying more and more,
Till he became
Most poore:
With  thee
Oh let me rise
As larks, harmoniously,
And sing this day  thy victories:
Then shall the fall further the flight in me.

My  tender  age  in  sorrow   did   beginne:
And still with sicknesses and shame
Thou  didst  so  punish  sinne,
That  I  became
Most thinne.
With  thee
Let me combine
And feel this day thy victorie:
For,  if  I  imp  my  wing  on  thine
Affliction shall  advance the  flight in  me.

 

The Dawning
George Herbert

Awake sad heart, whom sorrow ever drowns;
Take up thine eyes, which feed on earth;
Unfold thy forehead gather’d into frowns:
Thy Saviour comes, and with him mirth:
Awake, awake;
And with a thankful heart his comforts take.
But thou dost still lament, and pine, and cry;
And feel his death, but not his victory.

Arise sad heart; if thou dost not withstand,
Christ’s resurrection thine may be:
Do not by hanging down break from the hand,
Which as it riseth, raiseth thee:
Arise, Arise;
And with his burial-linen dry thine eyes:
Christ left his grave-clothes, that we might, when grief
Draws tears, or blood, not want an handkerchief.

 

Lent: Ash Wednesday
George Herbert.

1593-1633.

[ In remembrance of Ash Wednesday, next Wednesday, February 25… ]


Welcome dear feast of Lent: who loves not thee,
He loves not Temperance, or Authority,
But is composed of passion.
The Scriptures bid us fast; the Church says, now:
Give to your Mother, what you would allow
To every Corporation.

*  *  *

It ‘s true, we cannot reach Christ’s fortieth day;
Yet to go part of that religious way,
Is better than to rest:
We cannot reach our Savior’s purity;
Yet are bid, Be holy ev’n as he.
In both let ‘s do our best.

Who goes in the way which Christ has gone,
Is much more sure to meet with him, than one
Who travels the by-ways:
Perhaps my God, though he be far before,
May turn, and take me by the hand, and more
May strengthen my decays.

Yet Lord instruct us to improve our fast
By starving sin and taking such repast
As may our faults control:
That ev’ry man may revel at his door,
Not in his parlor; banqueting the poor,
And among those his soul.

 

VIRTUE


SWEET day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
The bridall of the earth and skie :
The dew shall weep thy fall to-night ;
         For thou must die.

Sweet rose, whose hue angrie and brave
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye,
Thy root is ever in its grave,
          And thou must die.

Sweet spring, full of sweet dayes and roses,
A box where sweets compacted lie,
My musick shows ye have your closes,
           And all must die.

Onely a sweet and virtuous soul,
Like season’d timber, never gives ;
But though the whole world turn to coal,
          Then chiefly lives.