O then, for mercy's sake, behold
These my eruptions manifold,
And heal me with Thy look or touch;
But if Thou wilt not deign so much,
Because I'm odious in Thy sight,
Speak but the word, and cure me quite.
These my eruptions manifold,
And heal me with Thy look or touch;
But if Thou wilt not deign so much,
Because I'm odious in Thy sight,
Speak but the word, and cure me quite.
Robert Herrick
_Stroke_, text _strike_.
26. WHIPS.
God has His whips here to a twofold end:
The bad to punish, and the good t' amend.
27. GOD'S PROVIDENCE.
If all transgressions here should have their pay,
What need there then be of a reckoning day?
If God should punish no sin here of men,
His providence who would not question then?
28. TEMPTATION.
Those saints which God loves best,
The devil tempts not least.
29. HIS EJACULATION TO GOD.
My God! look on me with Thine eye
Of pity, not of scrutiny;
For if Thou dost, Thou then shalt see
Nothing but loathsome sores in me.
O then, for mercy's sake, behold
These my eruptions manifold,
And heal me with Thy look or touch;
But if Thou wilt not deign so much,
Because I'm odious in Thy sight,
Speak but the word, and cure me quite.
30. GOD'S GIFTS NOT SOON GRANTED.
God hears us when we pray, but yet defers
His gifts, to exercise petitioners;
And though a while He makes requesters stay,
With princely hand He'll recompense delay.
31. PERSECUTIONS PURIFY.
God strikes His Church, but 'tis to this intent,
To make, not mar her, by this punishment;
So where He gives the bitter pills, be sure
'Tis not to poison, but to make thee pure.
32. PARDON.
God pardons those who do through frailty sin,
But never those that persevere therein.
33. AN ODE OF THE BIRTH OF OUR SAVIOUR.
In numbers, and but these few,
I sing Thy birth, O JESU!
Thou pretty baby, born here,
With sup'rabundant scorn here;
Who for Thy princely port here,
Hadst for Thy place
Of birth a base
Out-stable for Thy court here.
Instead of neat enclosures
Of interwoven osiers,
Instead of fragrant posies
Of daffodils and roses,
Thy cradle, Kingly Stranger,
As Gospel tells,
Was nothing else
But here a homely manger.
But we with silks, not crewels,
With sundry precious jewels,
And lily-work will dress Thee;
And as we dispossess Thee
Of clouts, we'll make a chamber,
Sweet babe, for Thee
Of ivory,
And plaister'd round with amber.