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George Herbert - Praise
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To write a verse or two is all the praise
            That I can raise;
     Mend my estate in any wayes,
            Thou shalt have more.

I go to Church; help me to wings, and I
            Will thither flie;
     Or, if I mount unto the skie,
            I will do more.

Man is all weaknesse: there is no such thing
            As Prince or King:
     His arm is short; yet with a sling
            He may do more.

A herb destilled, and drunk, may dwell next doore,
            On the same floore,
     To a brave soul: Exalt the poore,
            They can do more.

O, raise me then! poore bees, that work all day,
            Sting my delay,
     Who have a work, as well as they,
            And much, much more.
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