Sobriety In Search.

To seek of God more than we well can find,
Argues a strong distemper of the mind.

Robert Herrick

Robert Herrick was a 17th-century English lyric poet and cleric. He is known for his book of poems, "Hesperides," which includes the carpe diem poem "To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time." His works are noted for their clarity, simplicity, and musical quality. Herrick was also a vicar of Dean Prior in Devon, despite being ejected during the English Civil War and later reinstated.

Robert Herrick

God's Part.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Love Is A Syrup.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Leprosy In Houses.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

God Is One.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

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Seek And Find.

Attempt the end, and never stand to doubt;
Nothing's so hard but search will find it out.

Robert Herrick

The Soul.

When once the soul has lost her way,
O then how restless does she stray!
And having not her God for light,
How does she err in endless night!

Robert Herrick

To Find God.

Weigh me the fire; or canst thou find
A way to measure out the wind;
Distinguish all those floods that are
Mix'd in that watery theatre;
And taste thou them as saltless there
As in their channel first they were.
Tell me the people that do keep
Within the kingdoms of the deep;
Or fetch me back that cloud again
Beshiver'd into seeds of rain;
Tell me the motes, dust, sands, and spears
Of corn, when summer shakes his ears;
Show me that world of stars, and whence
They noiseless spill their influence:
This if thou canst, then show me Him
That rides the glorious cherubim.

Robert Herrick

To God.

God, who me gives a will for to repent,
Will add a power to keep me innocent;
That I shall ne'er that trespass recommit
When I have done true penance here for it.

Robert Herrick

Another To God.

Lord, do not beat me,
Since I do sob and cry,
And swoon away to die,
Ere Thou dost threat me.
Lord, do not scourge me,
If I by lies and oaths
Have soil'd myself or clothes,
But rather purge me.

Robert Herrick

To His Dear God.

    I'll hope no more
For things that will not come;
And if they do, they prove but cumbersome.
    Wealth brings much woe;
And, since it fortunes so,
'Tis better to be poor
    Than so t' abound
    As to be drown'd
Or overwhelm'd with store.

    Pale care, avaunt!
I'll learn to be content
With that small stock Thy bounty gave or lent.
    What may conduce
To my most healthful use,
Almighty God, me grant;
    But that, or this,
    That hurtful is,
Deny Thy suppliant.

Robert Herrick