Friday, June 30, 2017

Poem: Paradise (George Herbert)

I bless thee, Lord, because I GROW
among thy trees, which in a ROW
to thee both fruit and order OW


What open force, or hidden CHARM
can blast my fruit, or bring he HARM
while the inclosure is tine ARM


In close me still, for fear I START
Be to me rather sharp and TART
then let me want they hand and ART


When thou dost great judgments SPARE
and with they knife but prune and PARE
Ev'n fruit full trees more fruitful ARE


Such sharpness shows the sweetest FREND
Such cuttings rather heal than REND
and such beginnings touch their END