Thoughts for the Weekend.

As this weekend is Good Friday and Easter, I thought I would do something geared toward these Church days.

Also, as I have decided to get back into reading poetry again, I decided to share some poems on these days. Poems by George Herbert, an excellent (in my humble opinion) poet of the 16th-17th centuries (1593-1633).

I am also reading Gerard Manley Hopkins as well, who is another excellent Christian poet, of the 19th century.

Here they are:

But first I must apologize for the formatting. Herbert has his poems set to a certain pattern and format, but Blogger doesn't seem to want to allow me to do it. Sorry. If I figure out how to fix the problem, I will. If not, feel free to look up the poems elsewhere to see their formatting.

Good Friday.

O my chief good,
How shall I measure out thy bloud?
How shall I count what thee befell,
And each grief tell?

Shall I thy woes
Number according to thy foes?
Or, since one starre show'd thy first breath,
Shall all thy death?

Or each leaf,
Which falls in Autumne, score a grief?
Or cannot leaves, but fruit, be signe
Of the true vine?

Then let each houre
Of my life one grief devoure;
That they distress through all may runne,
And be my sunne.

Or rather let
My severall sinnes their sorrows get;
That as each beast his cure doth know,
Each sinne may so.

Since bloud is fittest, Lord, to write
Thy sorrows in, and bloudie fight;
My heart hath store, write there, where in
One box doth lie both ink and sinne:

That when sinne spies so many foes,
Thy whips, thy nails, thy wounds, thy woes,
All come to lodge there, sinne may say,
No room for me, and flie away.

Sinne being gone, oh fill the place,
And keep possession with thy grace;
Lest sinne take courage and return,
And all the writings blot or burn.


Redemption.

Having been tenant long to a rich Lord,
Not thriving, I resolved to be bold,
And make a suit unto him, to afford
A new small-rented lease, and cancell th'old.

In heaven at his manour I him sought:
They told me there, that he was lately gone
About some land, which he had dearly bought
Long since on earth, to take possession.

I straight return'd, and knowing his great birth,
Sought him accordingly in great resorts;
In cities, theatres, gardens, parks, and courts:
At length I heard a ragged noise and mirth

Of theeves and murderers: there I him espied,
Who straight, Your suit is granted, said, & died.


This one here is my favourite. I studied it in OAC English with Dr. Helder, and have remembered about it ever since. Notice the shape of the verses. If you put them sideways, they look like wings.

Easter Wings.

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
O 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.