Sunday Poem, Late

Yes it is up late. Yesterday there were other things than scren time.

H. Baptisme. (I)

AS he that sees a dark and shadie grove,
Stays not, but looks beyond it on the skie;
So when I view my sinnes, mine eyes remove
More backward still, and to that water flie,

Which is above the heav’ns, whose spring and vent
Is in my deare Redeemers pierced side.
O blessed streams! either ye do prevent
And stop our sinnes from growing thick and wide,

Or else give tears to drown them, as they grow.
In you Redemption measures all my time,
And spreads the plaister equall to the crime.
You taught the Book of Life my name, that so

What ever future sinnes should me miscall,
Your first acquaintance might discredit all.

The Temple, George Herbert