A sadly worn little copy of George Herbert's poems, which I discovered in the used book store around the corner and down the street, has proven itself far more precious than the two dollars I paid for it. Now that I have fixed the cover (stiff fusible interfacing wrapped in cotton fabric) my dear friend is much better prepared for the frequent handling he receives.


Herbert is intensely devotional as well as a lover of colorful words. Hence I like him very much; his verse is like good medicine. Here is the one poem that I cannot get out of my head for the love of it:

"The Dawning"

Awake, sad heart, whom sorrow ever drowns ;
Take up thine eyes, which feed on earth ;
Unfold thy forehead, gathered into frowns ;
Thy Saviour comes, and with Him mirth :
Awake, awake,
And with a thankful heart His comforts take.
But thou dost still lament, and pine, and cry,
And feel His death, but not His victory.

Arise, sad heart ; if thou dost not withstand,
Christ's resurrection thine may be ;
Do not by hanging down break from the hand
Which, as it riseth, raiseth thee :
Arise, Arise;
And with His burial linen drie thine eyes.
Christ left His grave-clothes, that we might, when grief
Draws tears or blood, not want a handkerchief.

Love!