“SEPULCHER”
George Herbert
Oh
blessed body! Whither art thou thrown?
No lodging for thee, but a cold hard stone?
So many hearts on earth, and yet not one
Receive thee?
No lodging for thee, but a cold hard stone?
So many hearts on earth, and yet not one
Receive thee?
Sure
there is room within our hearts good store;
For they can lodge transgressions by the score:
Thousands of trifling things dwell there, yet out of door
They leave thee.
For they can lodge transgressions by the score:
Thousands of trifling things dwell there, yet out of door
They leave thee.
But
that which shows them large, shows them unfit.
Whatever sin did this pure rock commit,
Which holds thee now? Who hath indicted it
Of murder?
Whatever sin did this pure rock commit,
Which holds thee now? Who hath indicted it
Of murder?
Where
our hard hearts have took up stones to
brain thee,
And missing this, most falsely did arraign thee;
Only these stones in quiet entertain thee,
And order.
And missing this, most falsely did arraign thee;
Only these stones in quiet entertain thee,
And order.
And
as of old, the law by heav’nly art,
Was writ in stone; so thou, which also art
The letter of the word, find’st no fit heart
To hold thee.
Was writ in stone; so thou, which also art
The letter of the word, find’st no fit heart
To hold thee.
Yet
do we still persist as we began,
And so should perish, but that nothing can,
Though it be cold, hard, foul, from loving man
Withhold thee.
And so should perish, but that nothing can,
Though it be cold, hard, foul, from loving man
Withhold thee.
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