George Herbert

(3 April 1593 – 1 March 1633 / Montgomery, Wales)


Poem by George Herbert

My stock lies dead and no increase
Doth my dull husbandry improve:
O let thy graces without cease
Drop from above!

If still the sun should hide his face,
Thy house would but a dungeon prove,
Thy works, night's captives: O let grace
Drop from above!

The dew doth ev'ry morning fall;
And shall the dew outstrip thy dove?
The dew, for which grass cannot call,
Drop from above.

Death is still working like a mole,
And digs my grave at each remove:
Let grace work too, and on my soul
Drop from above.

Sin is still hammering my heart
Unto a hardness, void of love:
Let suppling grace, to cross his art,
Drop from above.

O come! for thou dost know the way.
Or if to me thou wilt not move,
Remove me, where I need not say,
'Drop from above.'

Comments about Grace by George Herbert

  • Glen KappyGlen Kappy (6/4/2017 8:09:00 AM)

    for me what comes across most clearly is our need for grace which, if we are aware of it, makes the repetition of drop from above entirely appropriate. herbert demonstrates in other poems that he chooses his forms carefully to fit the message, as in this one. -gk(Report)Reply

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  • Edward Kofi LouisEdward Kofi Louis (6/4/2017 2:58:00 AM)

    Like a mole! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.(Report)Reply

    0 person liked.
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  • Brian JaniBrian Jani (5/29/2014 1:27:00 PM)

    George well done I like this poem(Report)Reply

    1 person liked.
    4 person did not like.
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Read poems about / on: house, work, death, sun, night, heart

Poem Submitted: Friday, November 28, 2003