Sunday Poem.

This is just simple and lovely.

Praise. (I)

TO write a verse or two is all the praise,
That I can raise:
Mend my estate in any wayes,
Thou shalt have more.

I go to Church; help me to wings, and I
Will thither flie;
Or, if I mount unto the skie,
I will do more.

Man is all weaknesse; there is no such thing
As Prince or King:
His arm is short; yet with a sling
He may do more.

An herb distill’d, and drunk, may dwell next doore,
On the same floore,
To a brave soul: exalt the poore,
They can do more.

O raise me then! Poore bees, that work all day,
Sting my delay,
Who have a work, as well as they,

The Temple, George Herbert, 1633