George Herbert

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

Praise (I) - Poem by George Herbert

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

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

Man is all weakness; 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 door,
On the same floor,
To a brave soul: Exalt the poor,
They can do more.

O raise me then! poor bees, that work all day,
Sting my delay,
Who have a work, as well as they,
And much, much more.


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Read poems about / on: work, sky



Poem Submitted: Friday, November 28, 2003



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