I am both foul and brittle, much unfit

To deal in Holy Writ.

Yet have I often seen, by cunning hand
And force of fire, what curious things are made
Of wretched earth. Where once I scorned to stand,
That earth is fitted by the fire and trade

Of skilful artists, for the boards of those

Who make the bravest shows.

But since those great ones, be they ne'er so great, Come from the earth, from whence those vessels come, So that at once both feeder, dish, and meat,

Have one beginning and one final sum;

I do not greatly wonder at the sight,

If earth in earth delight.

But the holy men of God such vessels are
As serve Him up who all the world commands.
When God vouchsafeth to become our fare,

Their hands convey Him Who conveys their hands:
O what pure things, most pure, must those things be
Who bring my God to me!

Wherefore I dare not, I, put forth my hand

To hold the Ark, although it seem to shake
Through th' old sins and new doctrines of our land.
Only, since God doth often vessels make

Of lowly matter for high uses meet,

I throw me at His feet.

There will I lie, until my Maker seek

For some mean stuff whereon to show His skill:

Then is my time.

The distance of the meek

Doth flatter power.

Lest good come short of ill

In praising might, the poor do by submission

What pride by opposition.*

THE SEARCH.

WHITHER, O whither art thou fled,
My Lord, my Love?

My searches are my daily bread;

Yet never prove.†

My knees pierce th' earth, mine eyes the sky:
And yet the sphere

And centre both to me deny

That Thou art there.

Yet can I mark how herbs below

Grow green and gay;

As if to meet Thee they did know,
While I decay.

Yet can I mark how stars above

Simper and shine,

As having keys unto Thy love,

While poor I pine.

I sent a sigh to seek Thee out,

Deep drawn in pain,

Winged like an arrow; but my scout

Returns in vain.

* The meek, by "distance" (i.e., humility) and submission, offer a truer homage to power than the proud who acknowledge it by their opposition and defi ince. By this quaint conceit Herbert expresses a hope that God will be won by his humility to accept him as His priest.

† Succeed; coine right.

I turned another (having store)

Into a groan,

Because the search was dumb before;
But all was one.

Lord, dost Thou some new fabric mould
Which favour wins,

And keeps Thee present, leaving th' old
Unto their sins?

Where is my God? what hidden place
Conceals Thee still?

What covert dare eclipse Thy face?
Is it Thy will?

O let not that of anything:

*

Let rather brass,

Or steel, or mountains be Thy ring,
And I will pass.

Thy will such an entrenching is,

As passeth thought:

To it all strength, all subtilties

Are things of naught.

Thy will such a strange distance is,

As that to it

East and West touch, the poles do kiss,
And parallels meet.

Since then my grief must be as large
As is Thy space,

Thy distance from me; see my charge,t

Lord, see my case.

* Let nothing eclipse Thy face.

† See how I am burdened.

O take these bars, these lengths, away;

Turn, and restore me:

Be not Almighty, let me say,

Against, but for me.

When Thou dost turn, and wilt be near,
What edge so keen,

What point so piercing can appear

To come between?

For as Thy absence doth excel

All distance known,

So doth Thy nearness bear the bell,

Making two one.

GRIEF.

O WHO will give me tears? Come, all ye springs,

Dwell in my head and eyes: come, clouds and rain ; My grief hath need of all the wat'ry things

That nature hath produced.

Let ev'ry vein

Suck up a river to supply mine eyes,
My weary weeping eyes, too dry for me,
Unless they get new conduits, new supplies,
To bear them out, and with my state agree.
What are two shallow fords, two little spouts
Of a less world? the greater is but small,
A narrow cupboard for my griefs and doubts,
Which want provision in the midst of all.
Verses, ye are too fine a thing, too wise

For my rough sorrows: cease, be dumb and mute,
Give up your feet and running to mine eyes,

And keep your measures for some lover's lute,
Whose grief allows him music and a rhyme;
For mine excludes both measure, tune, and time.
Alas, my God!

THE CROSS.

WHAT is this strange and uncouth thing

To make me sigh, and seek, and faint, and die,
Until I had some place where I might sing
And serve Thee; and not only I,

But all my wealth and family might combine
To set Thy honour up as our design?

And then when after much delay,
Much wrestling, many a combat, this dear end,
So much desired, is given, to take away
My power to serve Thee; to unbend
All my abilities, my designs confound,
And lay my threatenings bleeding on the ground!

One ague dwelleth in my bones,

Another in my soul (the memory

What I would do for Thee, if once my groans,
Could be allowed for harmony)

I am in all a weak disabled thing,

Save in the sight thereof, where strength doth sting.

Besides, things sort not to my will,

E'en when my will doth study Thy renown:
Thou turn'st the edge of all things on me still,
Taking me up to throw me down: