Sunday Poem

The gloss on today’s poemis that Emily Dickenson copied it, and it was attribedt by some to her, becaue she wrote it out amongst her own poems.

Most of wich were not for publication.

Natins is morning prayer, a service that all priests in the Anglican faith should read daily, preferably in public This is now more honoured in the breach


              I Cannot ope mine eyes,
        But thou art ready there to catch
        My morning-soul and sacrifice:

Then we must needs for that day make a match.

              My God, what is a heart?
        Silver, or gold, or precious stone,
        Or starre, or rainbow, or a part

Of all these things, or all of them in one?

My God, what is a heart?
That thou shouldst it so eye, and wooe,
Powring upon it all thy art,
As if that thou hadst nothing els to do?

              Indeed mans whole estate
        Amounts (and richly) to serve thee:
        He did not heav’n and earth create,

Yet studies them, not him by whom they be.

              Teach me thy love to know;
        That this new light, which now I see,
        May both the work and workman show:

Then by a sunne-beam I will climbe to thee.

George Herbert