Good Read: George Herbert

I own a dilapidated copy of a once-lovely Victorian edition of the works of George Herbert, an English country parson and poet. Born into a noble family of ten children in 1593, Herbert was a noted scholar at Trinity College, Cambridge. He took orders in the church and eventually served the parish at Bemerton for several years, beloved for his preaching and his devotion to the people in his parish. Close friend of John Donne and contemporary of Ben Jonson and William Shakespeare, he was versed in theology, philosophy, and poetry. His own poetry records with surprising honesty the struggles he had with faith and with a life of service in the church. One of the metaphysical poets, he explores truth through imagery, juxtaposition, and paradox. Many of his lines--and some entire poems--are brilliant.

Herbert died in 1632. He wrote his faith in poems to the end, mindful of his role as poet:

Of all the creatures both in sea and land,
Onely to man thou hast made known thy wayes,
And put the penne alone into his hand,
And made him Secretarie of thy praise.

The following poem, which is really about prayer, is appropriate at Advent:

The Bag

Away despair; my gracious Lord doth heare,
Though windes and waves assault my keel.
He doth preserve it; he doth steer,
Ev'n when the boat seems most to reel.
Storms are the triumph of his art:
Well may he close his eyes, but not his heart.

Hast thou not heard, that my Lord Jesus di'd?
Then let me tell thee a strange storie.
The God of power, as he did ride
In his majestick robes of glorie,
Resolv'd to light; and so one day
He did descend, undressing all the way.

The starres his tire of light and rings obtain'd,
The cloud his bowe, the fire his spear,
The sky his azure mantle gain'd.
And when they ask'd, what he would wear;
He smil'd, and said as he did go,
He had new clothes a making here below.

When he was come as travellers are wont,
He did repair unto an inne.
Both then, and after, many a brunt
He did endure to cancell sinne:
And having giv'n the rest before,
Here he gave up his life to pay our score.

But as he was returning, there came one
That ran upon him with a spear.
He, who came hither all alone,
Bringing nor man, nor arms, nor fear,
Receiv'd the blow upon his side,
And straight he turned, and to his brethren cry'd,

If ye have any thing to send or write
(I have no bag, but here is room)
Unto my father's hands and sight
(Beleeve me) it shall safely come.
That I shall minde, what you impart;
Look, you may put it very neare my heart.

Or if hereafter any of my friends
Will use me in this kind, the doore,
Shall still be open; what he sends
I will present, and somewhat more,
Not to his hurt. Sighs will convey
Anything to me. Heark despair, away.