---

George Herbert - An Offering
Work rating: Low

Come, bring thy gift.  If blessings were as slow
As men`s returns, what would become of fools?
What hast thou there? a heart? but is it pure?
Search well and see, for hearts have many holes.
Yet one pure heart is nothing to bestow:
In Christ two natures met to be thy cure.

O that within us hearts had propagation,
Since many gifts do challenge many hearts!
Yet one, if good, may title to a number;
And single things grow fruitfull by deserts.
In publick judgments one may be a nation,
And fence a plague, while others sleep and slumber.

But all I fear is lest thy heart displease,
As neigher good, nor one: so oft divisions
Thy lusts have made, and not thy lusts alone;
Thy passions also have their set partitions.
These parcell out thy heart: recover these
And thou mayst offer many gifts in one.

There is a balsome, or indeed a bloud,
Dropping from heav`n, which doth both cleanse and close
All sorts of wounds; of such strange force it is.
Seek out his All-heal, and seek no repose,
Until thou finde, and use it to thy good:
Then bring thy gift; and let thy hymne be this;

                    Since my sadnesse
                    Into gladnesse,
          Lord thou dost convert,
                    O accept
                    What thou hast kept,
          As thy due desert.

          Had I many,
                     Had I any,
          (For this heart is none)
                     All were thine
                     And none of mine,
          Surely thine alone.

                     Yet thy favour
                     May give savour
          To this poor oblation;
                     And it raise 
                     To be thy praise,
          And be my salvation.
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.