Selected Works. George Herbert

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      18. AFFLICTION.

      WHEN first thou didst entice to thee my heart,

      I thought the service brave:

      So many joyes I writ down for my part,

      Besides what I might have

      Out of my stock of naturall delights,

      Augmented with thy gracious benefits.

      I looked on thy furniture so fine,

      And made it fine to me;

      Thy glorious household-stuffe did me entwine,

      And ’tice me unto thee.

      Such starres I counted mine: both heav’n and earth

      Payd me my wages in a world of mirth.

      What pleasures could I want, whose King I served,

      Where joyes my fellows were?

      Thus argu’d into hopes, my thoughts reserved

      No place for grief or fear;

      Therefore my sudden soul caught at the place,

      And made her youth and fiercenesse seek thy face:

      At first thou gav’st me milk and sweetnesses;

      I had my wish and way:

      My dayes were straw’d with flow’rs and happinesse;

      There was no moneth but May.

      But with my yeares sorrow did twist and grow,

      And made a partie unawares for wo.

      My flesh began unto my soul in pain,

      Sicknesses cleave my bones,

      Consuming agues dwell in ev’ry vein,

      And tune my breath to grones:

      Sorrow was all my soul; I scarce beleeved,

      Till grief did tell me roundly, that I lived.

      When I got health, thou took’st away my life,

      And more; for my friends die:

      My mirth and edge was lost; a blunted knife

      Was of more use then I.

      Thus thinne and lean without a fence or friend,

      I was blown through with ev’ry storm and winde.

      Whereas my birth and spirit rather took

      The way that takes the town;

      Thou didst betray me to a lingring book,

      And wrap me in a gown.

      I was entangled in the world of strife,

      Before I had the power to change my life.

      Yet, for I threatened oft the siege to raise,

      Not simpring all mine age,

      Thou often didst with academick praise

      Melt and dissolve my rage.

      I took thy sweetened pill, till I came neare;

      I could not go away, nor persevere.

      Yet lest perchance I should too happie be

      In my unhappinesse

      Turning my purge to food, thou throwest me

      Into more sicknesses.

      Thus doth thy power cross-bias me, not making

      Thine own gift good, yet me from my ways taking.

      Now I am here, what thou wilt do with me

      None of my books will show:

      I reade, and sigh, and wish I were a tree;

      For sure then I should grow

      To fruit or shade: at least some bird would trust

      Her household to me, and I should be just.

      Yet, though thou troublest me, I must be meek;

      In weaknesse must be stout.

      Well, I will change the service, and go seek

      Some other master out.

      Ah my deare God! though I am clean forgot,

      Let me not love thee, if I love thee not.