George Herbert

George Herbert

1593–1633 · lived 39 years GB GB

George Herbert was a Welsh-born metaphysical poet, priest, and rhetorician. His poetry, characterized by its intricate structure, devotional intensity, and witty exploration of faith, is highly regarded within English literature. Herbert's work often reflects his personal spiritual journey and his role as a clergyman, offering profound insights into the relationship between the divine and the human.

n. 1593-04-03, Montgomery · m. 1633-03-01, Bemerton

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Virtue

Virtue


Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright
The bridal of the earth and sky:
The dew shall weep thy fall tonight,
For thou must die.


Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave,
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eyes:
Thy root is ever in its grave,
And thou must die.


Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses,
A box where sweets compacted lie:
My music shows ye have your closes,
And all must die.


Only a sweet and virtuous soul,
LIke seasoned timber, never gives;
But though the whole world turn to coal.
Then chiefly lives.
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Bio

Identification and basic context

George Herbert was a Welsh poet, rhetorician, and Anglican priest. He is best known for his religious poetry, which was published posthumously. His work is considered a significant part of the metaphysical poetry tradition. He wrote in English.

Childhood and education

Born into a prominent and wealthy family in Montgomeryshire, Wales, George Herbert received an excellent education. He attended Westminster School in London and later studied at Trinity College, Cambridge, where he earned degrees in Greek and Hebrew. At Cambridge, he developed a reputation for his intellectual prowess and poetic talent, becoming a Fellow of the college.

Literary trajectory

While Herbert composed poetry throughout his life, much of it was not published until after his death. His earliest poems showed promise, but his later devotional works reflect a deep engagement with his faith and his priestly duties. His close friend, Nicholas Ferrar, was instrumental in collecting and publishing Herbert's poems.

Works, style, and literary characteristics

Hermet's major work is "The Temple, Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations," published in 1633. This collection explores the relationship between God and the soul through a wide range of poetic forms and ingenious metaphors. His style is characterized by its "wit" – in the Renaissance sense of intellectual ingenuity and cleverness – alongside profound emotional sincerity. He frequently uses "shape poems" or "carpentered poems," where the typography of the poem visually represents its subject matter (e.g., a poem about an altar shaped like an altar). Themes include the struggles of faith, the beauty of divine love, the nature of prayer, and the redemption of the soul.

Cultural and historical context

Herbert lived during a period of significant religious and political upheaval in England, the early 17th century. As a priest in the Church of England, his work engaged with the theological debates and spiritual concerns of his time. He was part of the broader metaphysical poets movement, alongside contemporaries like John Donne and Andrew Marvell, though his focus was primarily devotional.

Personal life

Hermet was born into a noble family and had connections to the English court. However, he eventually renounced worldly ambitions to pursue a life of religious service. He was ordained as a priest in the Church of England and served as rector of Bemerton, Wiltshire, for the last three years of his life. His personal spirituality and dedication to his pastoral duties are central to his poetry.

Recognition and reception

Hermet's poetry gained considerable popularity shortly after its publication and has remained influential ever since. His work is admired for its technical skill, its spiritual depth, and its unique blend of intellectualism and heartfelt devotion. He is considered one of the foremost English devotional poets.

Influences and legacy

Hermet was influenced by classical literature and the Bible. His own influence on subsequent religious poetry is profound. Poets like John Keats and Samuel Taylor Coleridge admired his work. His legacy endures through "The Temple," which continues to be read and studied for its spiritual insights and poetic artistry.

Interpretation and critical analysis

Critical analysis of Herbert's work often focuses on his use of religious imagery, his exploration of spiritual conflict and resolution, and his innovative poetic forms. His poems are seen as profound meditations on faith, doubt, and the divine.

Curiosities and lesser-known aspects

Herbert was known for his musicality and was skilled in playing the lute and viol. His decision to pursue a humble clerical life over a potentially more prestigious courtly career is often highlighted as a testament to his spiritual convictions.

Death and memory

George Herbert died of consumption (tuberculosis) in 1633 at the age of 39. His memory is preserved through his enduring poetic works, particularly "The Temple."

Poems

43

Grace

Grace


My stock lies dead and no increase
Doth my dull husbandry improve:
O let thy graces without cease
Drop from above!


If still the sun should hide his face,
Thy house would but a dungeon prove,
Thy works, night's captives: O let grace
Drop from above!


The dew doth ev'ry morning fall;
And shall the dew outstrip thy dove?
The dew, for which grass cannot call,
Drop from above.


Death is still working like a mole,
And digs my grave at each remove:
Let grace work too, and on my soul
Drop from above.


Sin is still hammering my heart
Unto a hardness, void of love:
Let suppling grace, to cross his art,
Drop from above.


O come! for thou dost know the way.
Or if to me thou wilt not move,
Remove me, where I need not say,
'Drop from above.'
258

Faith

Faith


Lord, how couldst thou so much appease
Thy wrath for sin, as when man's sight was dim,
And could see little, to regard his ease,
And bring by Faith all things to him?


Hungry I was, and had no meat:
I did conceit a most delicious feast;
I had it straight, and did as truly eat,
As ever did a welcome guest.


There is a rare outlandish root,
Which when I could not get, I thought it here:
That apprehension cur'd so well my foot,
That I can walk to heav'n well near.


I owed thousands and much more.
I did believe that I did nothing owe,
And liv'd accordingly; my creditor
Believes so too, and lets me go.


Faith makes me any thing, or all
That I believe is in the sacred story:
And where sin placeth me in Adam's fall,
Faith sets me higher in his glory.


If I go lower in the book,
What can be lower than the common manger?
Faith puts me there with him, who sweetly took
Our flesh and frailty, death and danger.


If bliss had lien in art or strength,
None but the wise or strong had gained it:
Where now by Faith all arms are of a length;
One size doth all conditions fit.


A peasant may believe as much
As a great Clerk, and reach the highest stature.
Thus dost thou make proud knowledge bend and crouch
While grace fills up uneven nature.


When creatures had no real light
Inherent in them, thou didst make the sun
Impute a lustre, and allow them bright;
And in this show what Christ hath done.


That which before was darkned clean
With bushy groves, pricking the looker's eye,
Vanisht away, when Faith did change the scene:
And then appear'd a glorious sky.


What though my body run to dust?
Faith cleaves unto it, counting ev'ry grain



With an exact and most particular trust,
Reserving all for flesh again.
350

Employment (I)

Employment (I)

If as a flower doth spread and die,
Thou wouldst extend me to some good,
Before I were by frost's extremity
Nipt in the bud;


The sweetness and the praise were thine;
But the extension and the room,
Which in thy garland I should fill, were mine
At thy great doom.


For as thou dost impart thy grace,
The greater shall our glory be.
The measure of our joys is in this place,
The stuff with thee.


Let me not languish then, and spend
A life as barren to thy praise,
As is the dust, to which that life doth tend,
But with delays.


All things are busy; only I
Neither bring honey with the bees,
Nor flowers to make that, nor the husbandry
To water these.


I am no link of thy great chain,
But all my company is a weed.
Lord place me in thy consort; give one strain
To my poor reed.
261

Discipline

Discipline


THROW away Thy rod,
Throw away Thy wrath;
O my God,
Take the gentle path!

For my heart's desire
Unto Thine is bent:
I aspire
To a full consent.

Not a word or look
I affect to own,
But by book,
And Thy Book alone.

Though I fail, I weep;
Though I halt in pace,
Yet I creep
To the throne of grace.

Then let wrath remove;
Love will do the deed;
For with love
Stony hearts will bleed.

Love is swift of foot;
Love 's a man of war,
And can shoot,
And can hit from far.

Who can 'scape his bow?
That which wrought on Thee,
Brought Thee low,
Needs must work on me.

Throw away Thy rod;
Though man frailties hath,
Thou art God:
Throw away Thy wrath!
204

Easter Song

Easter Song

I Got me flowers to straw Thy way,
I got me boughs off many a tree;
But Thou wast up by break of day,
And brought’st Thy sweets along with Thee.


The sunne arising in the East,
Though he give light, and th’ East perfume,
If they should offer to contest
With Thy arising, they presume.


Can there be any day but this,
Though many sunnes to shine endeavour?
We count three hundred, but we misse:
There is but one, and that one ever.
257

Clasping of Hands

Clasping of Hands

LORD, Thou art mine, and I am Thine,
If mine I am; and Thine much more
Then I or ought or can be mine.
Yet to be Thine doth me restore,
So that again I now am mine,
And with advantage mine the more,
Since this being mine brings with it Thine,
And Thou with me dost Thee restore:


If I without Thee would be mine,
I neither should be mine nor Thine.


Lord, I am Thine, and Thou art mine;
So mine Thou art, that something more
I may presume Thee mine then Thine,
For Thou didst suffer to restore
Not Thee, but me, and to be mine:
And with advantage mine the more,
Since Thou in death wast none of Thine,
Yet then as mine didst me restore:


O, be mine still; still make me Thine;
Or rather make no Thine and Mine.
250

Church Monuments

Church Monuments

While that my soul repairs to her devotion,
Here I intomb my flesh, that it betimes
May take acquaintance of this heap of dust;
To which the blast of death's incessant motion,
Fed with the exhalation of our crimes,
Drives all at last. Therefore I gladly trust


My body to this school, that it may learn
To spell his elements, and find his birth
Written in dusty heraldry and lines;
Which dissolution sure doth best discern,
Comparing dust with dust, and earth with earth.
These laugh at jet and marble put for signs,


To sever the good fellowship of dust,
And spoil the meeting. What shall point out them,
When they shall bow, and kneel, and fall down flat
To kiss those heaps, which now they have in trust?
Dear flesh, while I do pray, learn here thy stem
And true descent, that when thou shalt grow fat


And wanton in thy cravings, thou mayst know
That flesh is but the glass which holds the dust
That measures all our time; which also shall
Be crumbled into dust. Mark, here below
How tame these ashes are, how free from lust,
That thou mayst fit thyself against thy fall.
294

Artillery

Artillery


As I one ev'ning sat before my cell,
Me thoughts a star did shoot into my lap.
I rose, and shook my clothes, as knowing well,
That from small fires comes oft no small mishap.
When suddenly I heard one say,
-Do as thou usest, disobey,
Expell good motions from thy breast,
Which have the face of fire, but end in rest-.


I, who had heard of music in the spheres,
But not of speech in stars, began to muse:
But turning to my God, whose ministers
The stars and all things are; if I refuse,
Dread Lord, said I , so oft my good;
Then I refuse not ev'n with blood
To wash away my stubborn thought:
For I will do, or suffer what I ought.


But I have also stars and shooters too,
Born where thy servants both artilleries use.
My tears and prayers night and day do woo,
And work up to thee; yet thou dost refuse.
Not but that I am (I must say still)
Much more oblig'd to do thy will,
Than thou to grant mine: but because
Thy promise now hath ev'n set thee thy laws.


Then we are shooters both, and thou dost deign
To enter combat with us, and contest
With thine own clay. But I would parley fain:
Shun not my arrows, and behold my breast.
Yet if thou shunnest, I am thine:
I must be so, if I am mine.
There is no articling with thee:
I am but finite, yet thine infinitely.
339

Affliction (IV)

Affliction (IV)

Broken in pieces all asunder,
Lord, hunt me not,
A thing forgot,
Once a poor creature, now a wonder,
A wonder tortur'd in the space
Betwixt this world and that of grace.


My thoughts are all a case of knives,
Wounding my heart
With scatter'd smart,
As wat'ring pots give flowers their lives.
Nothing their fury can control,
While they do wound and prick my soul.


All my attendants are at strife,
Quitting their place
Unto my face:
Nothing performs the task of life:
The elements are let loose to fight,
And while I live, try out their right.


Oh help, my God! let not their plot
Kill them and me,
And also thee,
Who art my life: dissolve the knot,
As the sun scatters by his light
All the rebellions of the night.


Then shall those powers, which work for grief,
Enter thy pay,
And day by day
Labour thy praise, and my relief;
With care and courage building me,
Till I reach heav'n, and much more, thee.
248

Aaron

Aaron


Holiness on the head,
Light and perfection on the breast,
Harmonious bells below, raising the dead
To led them unto life and rest.
Thus are true Aarons dressed.


Profaneness in my head,
Defects and darkness in my breast,
A noise of passions ringing me for dead
Unto a place where is no rest.
Poor priest thus am I dressed.


Only another head
I have, another heart and breast,
another music, making live not dead,
without whom I could have no rest:
In him I am well dressed.


Christ is my only head,
My alone only heart and breast,
My only music, striking me even dead;
That to the old man I may rest,
And be in him new dressed.


So holy in my head,
Perfect and light in my dear breast,
My doctrine tuned by Christ, (who is not dead,
But lives in me while I do rest)
Come people; Aaron's dressed.
350

Quotes

40

Videos

25

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