Avarice
Money, thou bane of bliss and source of woe,
whence com’st thou, that thou art so fresh and fine?
I know thy parentage is base and low;
man found thee poor and dirty in a mine.
Surely thou did’st so little contribute
to this great kingdom, which thou now hast got,
that he was fain, when thou wert destitute
to dig thee out of thy dark cave and grot;
then forcing thee by fire he made thee bright:
Nay, thou hast got the face of man; for we
have with our stamp and seal transferred our right:
thou art the man, and man but dross to thee.
Man called thee wealth, who made thee rich;
and while he digs out thee, falls in the ditch.
Prayer (1)
Prayer the Church’s banquet, angels’ age,
God’s breath in man returning to his birth,
the soul in paradise, heart in pilgrimage,
the Christian plummet sounding heaven and earth,
engine against the Almighty, sinners’ tower,
reversed thunder, Christ-side-piercing spear,
the six-days’ world transposing in an hour;
a kind of tune, which all things hear and fear;
softness and peace and joy and love and bliss,
exalted manna, gladness of the best,
heaven in ordinary, man well-dressed,
The Milky Way, the bird of paradise,
church bells beyond the stars heard, the soul’s blood,
the land of spices, something understood.
George Herbert (3 April 1593 – 1 March 1633) was an English poet, orator, and priest of the Church of England – rector of the rural parish of Fugglestone St Peter, just outside Salisbury. He was noted for unfailing care for his parishioners, bringing the sacraments to them when they were ill and providing food and clothing for those in need. He was never a healthy man and died of consumption at the age of 39.