A Poem of Master G. Herbert, in his 'Temple'
(Cant. 4:15:) here is that Tree of Life in the midst of the paradise of God, with leaves to heal the nations that will be cured, while it is said to-day, with twelve fruits to give food continually to such as feed also upon the hidden manna, who after death receive the crown of justice and life, the morning star, white clothing, and the white stone, wherein a name is written equal to all the law. (Deut. 27:2.) The first seat of the first Adam in the first paradise was glorious; this is better; and as Moses began with the terrestrial, so the holy word ends in the celestial; that to wheels full of eyes may the writ of truth be compared: the full consent and melody of prophets and apostles, how their harps are tuned on Mount Sion, (Apoc. 14.) it will fully appear in the full sight of peace, when our bodies are made conformable to Christ's glorious body (Phil. 3:21) in the world to come, and our eyes shall see the Lord in that Sion. For that coming,
"O thou whom my soul loveth, be like to the roes upon the mountains." (Cant. 1:7; 2:17.) Amen. Even so come, Lord Jesus. Then shall we in perfect holiness worship thee, to whom the angels always give holy worship, saying, "Praise, and glory, and wisdom, and thanks, and honour, and power, and might, be unto our God for evermore." Amen.
A POEM OF MASTER G. HERBERT, IN
HIS 'TEMPLE'
HOME COME, Lord, my head doth burn, my heart is sick,
While thou dost ever, ever stay, Thy long deferrings wound me to the quick; My spirit gaspeth night and day.
O show thyself to me, Or take me up to thee.
How canst thou stay, considering the pace The blood did make which thou didst waste;
When I behold it trickling down thy face, I never saw thing make such haste.
O show thyself to me, Or take me up to thee.
When man was lost, thy pity look'd about, To see what help in th' earth or sky; But there was none, at least no help without,
The help did in thy bosom lie.
O show thyself to me, Or take me up to thee.
There lay thy Son; and must he leave that nest, That hive of sweetness, to remove Thraldom from those, who would not at a feast
Leave one poor apple for thy love?
O show thyself to me, Or take me up to thee.
He did, he came. O my Redeemer dear, After all this canst thou be strange?
So many years baptis'd, and not appear?
As if thy love could fail or change.
O show thyself to me, Or take me up to thee.
Yet if thou stayest still, why must I stay?
My God, what is this world to me?
This world of wo. Hence, all ye clouds, away; Away: I must get up and see.
O show thyself to me, Or take me up to thee.
What is this weary world? This meat and drink, That chains us by the teeth so fast?
What is this womankind, which I can wink Into a blackness and distaste?
O show thyself to me,
Or take me up to thee.
With one small sigh thou gav'st me th' other day, I blasted all the joys about me; And scowling on them as they pin'd away;
Now come again, said I, and flout me.
O show thyself to me, Or take me up to thee.
Nothing but drought and dearth, but bush and brake, Which way soe'er I look, I see; Some may dream merrily, but when they awake,
They dress themselves, and come to thee.
O show thyself to me, Or take me up to thee.
We talk of harvests; there are no such things, But when we leave our corn and hay:
There is no fruitful years, but that which brings The last and Iov'd, though dreadful day.
O show thyself to me, Or take me up to thee.
O loose this frame; this knot of man untie,
That my free soul may use her wing, Which is now pinion'd with mortality, As an entangl'd, hamper'd thing.
O show thyself to me, Or take me up to thee.
What have I left that I should stay and groan; The most of me to heaven is fled:
My thoughts and joys are all pack'd up and gone, And for their old acquaintance plead.
O show thyself to me, Or take me up to thee.
Come, dearest Lord, pass not this holy season; My flesh and bones and joints do pray; And even my verse, when by the rhyme and reason
The word is Stay, says ever, Come.
O show thyself to me, Or take me up to thee.