O all ye, who pass by, whose eyes and mind
To worldly things are sharp, but to me blind;
To me, who took eyes that I might you find:
Was ever grief like mine?
The Princes of my people make a head
Against their Maker: they do wish me dead,
Who cannot wish, except I give them bread:
Was ever grief like mine?
Without me each one, who doth now me brave,
Had to this day been an Egyptian slave.
They use that power against me, which I gave:
Was ever grief like mine?
Take the time for careful prayer, rumination and meditation over it all.
Very apt selection. Thanks, Kendall.
The poem, with its refrain taken from a familiar text from Lamentations 1, is by George Herbert, the saintly English priest and poet, and one of the most beloved “Caroline divines” (he died in 1633).
David Handy+