- Affliction (I)
- by George Herbert
- Exported from Wikisource on 02/07/20
- WHEN first Thou didst entice to Thee my heart,
- I thought the service brave :
- So many joys I writ down for my part,
- Besides what I might have
- Out of my stock of naturall delights,
- Augmented with Thy gracious benefits.
- I lookèd on Thy furniture so fine,
- And made it fine to me ;
- Thy glorious household stuff did me entwine,
- And 'tice me unto Thee.
- Such stars I counted mine : both heaven and earth
- Paid me my wages in a world of mirth.
- What pleasures could I want, whose King I served,
- Where joys my fellows were ?
- Thus argued into hopes, my thoughts reserved
- No place for grief or fear ;
- Therefore my sudden soul caught at the place,
- And made her youth and fierceness seek Thy face :
- At first thou gavest me milk and sweetnesses ;
- I had my wish and way :
- My days were strewed with flowers and happiness :
- There was no month but May.
- But with my years sorrow did twist and grow,
- And made a party unawares for woe.
- My flesh began unto my soul in pain,
- Sicknesses clave my bones,
- Consuming agues dwell in every vein,
- And tune my breath to groans,
- Sorrow was all my soul ; I scarce believed,
- Till grief did tell me roundly, that I lived.
- When I got health, Thou took'st away my life—
- And more ; for my friends die :
- My mirth and edge was lost : a blunted knife
- Was of more use than I.
- Thus, thin and lean, without a fence or friend,
- I was blown through with every storm and wind.
- Whereas my birth and spirit rather took
- The way that takes the town,
- Thou didst betray me to a lingering book,
- And wrap me in a gown.
- I was entangled in the world of strife,
- Before I had the power to change my life.
- Yet, for I threatened oft the siege to raise,
- Not simpering all mine age,
- Thou often didst with academic praise
- Melt and dissolve my rage.
- I took thy sweetened pill, till I came near ;
- I could nor go away, nor persevere.
- Yet, lest perchance I should too happy be
- In my unhappiness,
- Turning my purge to food, Thou throwest me
- Into more sicknesses.
- Thus doth Thy power cross-bias me, not making
- Thine own gift good, yet me from my ways taking.
- Now I am here, what thou wilt do with me
- None of my books will show :
- I read, and sigh, and wish I were a tree—
- For sure, then, I should grow
- To fruit or shade ; at least, some bird would trust
- Her household to me, and I should be just.
- Yet, though Thou troublest me, I must be meek ;
- In weakness must be stout :
- Well, I will change the service, and go seek
- Some other master out.
- Ah, my dear God ! though I am clean forgot,
- Let me not love Thee, if I love Thee not.
- About this digital edition
- This e-book comes from the online library Wikisource[1]. This multilingual digital library, built by volunteers, is committed to developing a free accessible collection of publications of every kind: novels, poems, magazines, letters...
- We distribute our books for free, starting from works not copyrighted or published under a free license. You are free to use our e-books for any purpose (including commercial exploitation), under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported[2] license or, at your choice, those of the GNU FDL[3].
- Wikisource is constantly looking for new members. During the realization of this book, it's possible that we made some errors. You can report them at this page[4].
- The following users contributed to this book:
- Jslats
- Billinghurst
- Pathosbot
- * * *
- ↑ http://wikisource.org
- ↑ http://www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0
- ↑ http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html
- ↑ http://wikisource.org/wiki/Wikisource:Scriptorium