Sunday Shaped Poem.

I always thought patterned poems were a modern affectation. Soemthing to do with E E Cumming, and I was wrong.

When you extract the text for a blog and you set it up most of the time you omit the shape, In my view, the shape is non essential. Poetry is better spoken or sung.

The Altar.

A broken ALTAR, Lord, thy servant reares,
Made of a heart, and cemented with teares:
Whose parts are as thy hand did frame;
No workmans tool hath touch’d the same.
A HEART alone
Is such a stone,
As nothing but
Thy pow’r doth cut.
Wherefore each part
Of my hard heart
Meets in this frame,
To praise thy Name;
That, if I chance to hold my peace,
These stones to praise thee may not cease.
O let thy blessed SACRIFICE be mine,
And sanctifie this ALTAR to be thine.

George Herbert, The Temple, 1633