Oh King of grief! (a title strange, yet true,
\nTo thee of all kings only due)
\nOh King of wounds! how shall I grieve for thee,
\nWho in all grief preventest me?
\nShall I weep blood? why thou has wept such store
\nThat all thy body was one door.
\nShall I be scourged, flouted, boxed, sold?
\n‘Tis but to tell the tale is told.
\n‘My God, my God, why dost thou part from me? ‘
\nWas such a grief as cannot be.
\nShall I then sing, skipping, thy doleful story,
\nAnd side with thy triumphant glory?
\nShall thy strokes be my stroking? thorns, my flower?
\nThy rod, my posy? cross, my bower?
But how then shall I imitate thee, and
\nCopy thy fair, though bloody hand?
\nSurely I will revenge me on thy love,
\nAnd try who shall victorious prove.
\nIf thou dost give me wealth, I will restore
\nAll back unto thee by the poor.
\nIf thou dost give me honour, men shall see,
\nThe honour doth belong to thee.
\nI will not marry; or, if she be mine,
\nShe and her children shall be thine.
\nMy bosom friend, if he blaspheme thy name,
\nI will tear thence his love and fame.
\nOne half of me being gone, the rest I give
\nUnto some Chapel, die or live.
\nAs for thy passion – But of that anon,
\nWhen with the other I have done.
\nFor thy predestination I’ll contrive,
\nThat three years hence, if I survive,
\nI’ll build a spittle, or mend common ways,
\nBut mend mine own without delays.
\nThen I will use the works of thy creation,
\nAs if I us’d them but for fashion.
\nThe world and I will quarrel; and the year
\nShall not perceive, that I am here.
\nMy music shall find thee, and ev’ry string
\nShall have his attribute to sing;
\nThat all together may accord in thee,
\nAnd prove one God, one harmony.
\nIf thou shalt give me wit, it shall appear;
\nIf thou hast giv’n it me, ’tis here.
\nNay, I will read thy book, and never move
\nTill I have found therein thy love;
\nThy art of love, which I’ll turn back on thee,
\nO my dear Saviour, Victory!
\nThen for thy passion – I will do for that –
\nAlas, my God, I know not what.<\/p>\n
–George Herbert (1593-1633)<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Oh King of grief! (a title strange, yet true, To thee of all kings only due) Oh King of wounds! how shall I grieve for thee, Who in all grief preventest me? Shall I weep blood? why thou has wept…<\/span><\/p>\n