Great truths are greatly won. Not found by chance,
Nor wafted on the breath of summer dream,
But grasped in the great struggle of the soul,
Hard buffeting with adverse wind and stream.
Not in the general mart, 'mid corn and wine,
Not in the merchandise of gold and gems,
Not in the world's gay halls of midnight mirth,
Not 'mid the blaze of regal diadems,

But in the day of conflict, fear, and grief,

When the strong hand of God, put forth in might, Plows up the subsoil of the stagnant heart,

And brings the imprisoned truth-seed to the light. Wrung from the troubled spirit in hard hours

Of weakness, solitude, perchance of pain,

Truth springs, like harvest, from the well-plowed field, And the soul feels it has not wept in vain.

Horatius Bonar [1808-1889]

LOVE

LOVE bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.

But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,

Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lack anything.

"A guest," I answered, "worthy to be here:"
Love said, "You shall be he."

"I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear, I cannot look on Thee."

Love took my hand and, smiling, did reply, "Who made the eyes but I?"

"Truth, Lord; but I have marred them: let my shame

Go where it doth deserve."

'And know you not," says Love, "Who bore the blame?" "My dear, then I will serve."

"You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat." So I did sit and eat.

George Herbert [1593-1633]

THE COLLAR

I STRUCK the board, and cried, "No more;
I will abroad.

What, shall I ever sigh and pine?

My lines and life are free; free as the road,
Loose as the wind, as large as store.

Shall I be still in suit?

Have I no harvest but a thorn

To let me blood and not restore

What I have lost with cordial fruit?
Sure there was wine,

Before my sighs did dry it; there was corn

Before my tears did drown it;

Is the year only lost to me?

Have I no bays to crown it,

No flowers, no garlands gay? all blasted,
All wasted?

Not so, my heart; but there is fruit,

And thou hast hands.

Recover all thy sigh-blown age

On double pleasures; leave thy cold dispute
Of what is fit and not; forsake thy cage,
Thy rope of sands

Which petty thoughts have made; and made to thee
Good cable, to enforce and draw,

And be thy law,

While thou didst wink and wouldst not see.
Away! take heed;

I will abroad.

Call in thy death's-head there, tie up thy fears;
He that forbears

To suit and serve his need

Deserves his load."

But as I raved and grew more fierce and wild
At every word,

Methought I heard one calling, "Child!"

And I replied, "My Lord!"

George Herbert [1593-1633]

VIRTUE

SWEET day, so cool, so calm, so bright!
The bridal of the earth and sky—
The dew shall weep thy fall to-night;
For thou must die.

Sweet rose, whose hue angry 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 days and roses,
A box where sweets compacted lie,
My music shows ye have your closes,
And all must die.

Only a sweet and virtuous soul,
Like seasoned timber, never gives;

But though the whole world turn to coal

Then chiefly lives.

George Herbert [1593-1633]

DISCIPLINE

THROW away Thy rod,

Throw away Thy wrath;
O my God,
Take the gentle path!

For my heart's desire

Unto Thine is bent: 1

I aspire

To a full consent.

Not a word or look

I affect to own,

But by book,

And Thy Book alone.

Though I fail, I weep;
Though I halt in pace,

Yet I creep

To the throne of grace.

Then let wrath remove;
Love will do the deed;
For with love

Stony hearts will bleed.

Love is swift of foot;

Love's a man of war,

And can shoot,

And can hit from far.

Who can 'scape his bow?
That which wrought on Thee,
Brought Thee low,

Needs must work on me.

Throw away Thy rod;

Though man frailties hath,

Thou art God:

Throw away Thy wrath.

George Herbert [1593-1633]

HOLY BAPTISM

SINCE, Lord, to Thee

A narrow way and little gate

Is all the passage, on my infancy

Thou didst lay hold, and antedate

My faith in me.

O, let me still

Write Thee great God," and me a child";

Let me be soft and supple to Thy will,

Small to myself, to others mild,

Behither ill.

Although by stealth

My flesh get on; yet let her sister,

My soul, bid nothing, but preserve her wealth:
The growth of flesh is but a blister;

Childhood is health.

George Herbert [1593-1633]

UNKINDNESS

LORD, make me coy and tender to offend:
In friendship first, I think, if that agree
Which I intend

Unto my friend's intent and end;

I would not use a friend as I use Thee.

If any touch my friend or his good name,
It is my honor and my love to free

His blasted fame

From the least spot or thought of blame; I could not use a friend as I use Thee.

My friend may spit upon my curious floor.
Would he have gold? I lend it instantly;
But let the poor,

And Thee within them, starve at door;
I cannot use a friend as I use Thee.

When that my friend pretendeth to a place,
I quit my interest, and leave it free;

But when Thy grace

Sues for my heart, I Thee displace;

Nor would I use a friend as I use Thee.

Yet can a friend what Thou hast done fulfil?

O, write in brass, "My God upon a tree

His blood did spill,

Only to purchase my good-will";

Yet use I not my foes as I use Thee.

George Herbert [1593-1633]