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George Herbert - The Sonne
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Let forrain nations of their language boast,
What fine varietie each tongue affords:
I like our language, as our men and coast;
Who cannot dresse it well, want wit, not words.
How neatly do we give one onely name
To parents` issue and the sunne`s bright starre!
A sonne is light and fruit; a fruitful flame
Chasing the father`s dimnesse, carried far
From the first man in th` East, to fresh and new
Western discov`ries of posteritie.
So in one word our Lord`s humilitie
We turn upon him in a sense most true:
     For what Christ once in humblenesse began,
     We him in glorie call, The Sonne of Man.
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