Читать книгу Selected Works - George Herbert - Страница 10

OH all ye, who passe by, whose eyes and minde

To worldly things are sharp, but to me blinde;

To me, who took eyes that I might you finde:

Was ever grief like mine?

The Princes of my people make a head

Against their Maker: they do wish me dead,

Who cannot wish, except I give them bread:

Was ever grief like mine?

Without me each one, who doth now me brave,

Had to this day been an Egyptian slave.

They use that power against me, which I gave:

Was ever grief like mine?

Mine own Apostle, who the bag did beare,

Though he had all I had, did not forbeare

To sell me also, and to put me there:

Was ever grief like mine?

For thirtie pence he did my death devise,

Who at three hundred did the ointment prize,

Not half so sweet as my sweet sacrifice:

Was ever grief like mine?

Therefore my soul melts, and my heart’s deare treasure

Drops bloud (the only beads) my words to measure:

O let this cup passe, if it be thy pleasure:

Was ever grief like mine?

These drops being temper’d with a sinner’s tears,

A Balsome are for both the Hemispheres,

Curing all wounds, but mine; all, but my fears.

Was ever grief like mine?

Yet my Disciples sleep: I cannot gain

One houre of watching; but their drowsie brain

Comforts not me, and doth my doctrine stain:

Was ever grief like mine?

Arise, arise; they come. Look how they runne!

Alas! what haste they make to be undone!

How with their lanterns do they seek the sunne!

Was ever grief like mine?

With clubs and staves they seek me, as a thief,

Who am the way of truth, the true relief,

Most true to those who are my greatest grief:

Was ever grief like mine?

Judas, dost thou betray me with a kisse?

Canst thou finde hell about my lips? and misse

Of life, just at the gates of life and blisse?

Was ever grief like mine?

See, they lay hold on me, not with the hands

Of faith, but furie; yet at their commands

I suffer binding, who have loos’d their bands:

Was ever grief like mine?

All my Disciples flie; fear puts a barre

Betwixt my friends and me. They leave the starre,

That brought the wise men of the East from farre:

Was ever grief like mine?

Thea from one ruler to another bound

They leade me: urging, that it was not found

What I taught: Comments would the text confound.

Was ever grief like mine?

The Priests and rulers all false witnesse seek

’Gainst him, who seeks not life, but is the meek

And readie Paschal Lambe of this great week:

Was ever grief like mine?

Then they accuse me of great blasphemie,

That I did thrust into the Deitie,

Who never thought that any robberie:

Was ever grief like mine?

Some said, that I the Temple to the floore

In three days raz’d, and raised as before.

Why, he that built the world can do much more:

Was ever grief like mine?

Then they condemne me all with that same breath,

Which I do give them daily, unto death.

Thus Adam my first breathing rendereth:

Was ever grief like mine?

They binde, and leade me unto Herod: he

Sends me to Pilate. This makes them agree;

But yet their friendship is my enmitie.

Was ever grief like mine?

Herod and all his bands do set me light,

Who teach all hands to warre, fingers to fight,

And onely am the Lord of hosts and might.

Was ever grief like mine?

Herod in judgment sits, while I do stand;

Examines me with a censorious hand:

I him obey, who all things else command:

Was ever grief like mine?

The Jews accuse me with despitefulnesse;

And vying malice with my gentlenesse,

Pick quarrels with their onely happinesse:

Was ever grief like mine?

I answer nothing, but with patience prove

If stonie hearts will melt with gentle love.

But who does hawk at eagles with a dove?

Was ever grief like mine?

My silence rather doth augment their crie;

My dove doth back into my bosome flie,

Because the raging waters still are high:

Was ever grief like mine?

Hark how they cry aloud still, Crucifie:

It is not Jit he live a day, they crie,

Who cannot live lesse than eternally:

Was ever grief like mine?

Pilate a stranger holdeth off; but they,

Mine own deare people, cry, Away, away,

With noises confused frighting the day:

Was ever grief like mine?

Yet still they shout, and crie, and stop their eares,

Putting my life among their sinnes and feares,

And therefore wish my bloud on them and theirs:

Was ever grief like mine?

See how spite cankers things. These words aright

Used, and wished, are the whole world’s light:

But honey is their gall, brightnesse their night:

Was ever grief like mine?

They choose a murderer, and ail agree

In him to do themselves a courtesie;

For it was their own cause who killed me:

Was ever grief like mine?

And a seditious murderer he was:

But I the Prince of Peace; peace that doth passe

All understanding, more than heav’n doth glasse:

Was ever grief like mine?

Why, Cesar is their onely king, not I:

He clave the stonie rock, when they were drie;

But surely not their hearts, as I will trie:

Was ever grief like mine?

Ah! how they scourge me! yet my tendernesse

Doubles each lash: and yet their bitternesse

Windes up my grief to a mysteriousnesse:

Was ever grief like mine?

They buffet me, and box me as they list,

Who grasp the earth and heaven with my fist,

And never yet, whom I would punish, miss’d:

Was ever grief like mine?

Behold, they spit on me in scornfull wise;

Who by my spittle gave the blinde man eies,

Leaving his blindnesse to mine enemies:

Was ever grief like mine?

My face they cover, though it be divine.

As Moses face was vailed, so is mine,

Lest on their double-dark souls either shine:

Was ever grief like mine?

Servants and abjects flout me; they are wittie:

Now prophesie who strikes thee, is their dittie.

So they in me denie themselves all pitie:

Was ever grief like mine?

And now I am deliver’d unto death,

Which each one cals for so with utmost breath,

That he before me well-nigh suflereth:

Was ever grief like mine?

Weep not, deare friends, since I for both have wept

When all my tears were bloud, the while you slept:

Your tears for your own fortunes should be kept:

Was ever grief like mine?

The souldiers lead me to the common hall;

There they deride me, they abuse me all:

Yet for twelve heav’nly legions I could call:

Was ever grief like mine?

Then with a scarlet robe they me aray;

Which shews my bloud to be the onely way

And cordiall left to repair man’s decay:

Was ever grief like mine?

Then on my head a crown of thorns I wear;

For these are all the grapes Sion doth bear,

Though I my vine planted and watred there:

Was ever grief like mine?

So sits the earth’s great curse in Adam’s fall

Upon my head; so I remove it all

From th’ earth unto my brows, and bear the thrall:

Was ever grief like mine?

Then with the reed they gave to me before,

They strike my head, the rock from whence all store

Of heav’nly blessings issue evermore:

Was ever grief like mine?

They bow their knees to me, and cry, Hail king:

What ever scoffes or scornfulnesse can bring,

I am the floore, the sink, where they it fling:

Was ever grief like mine?

Yet since man’s scepters are as frail as reeds,

And thorny all their crowns, bloudie their weeds;

I, who am Truth, turn into truth their deeds:

Was ever grief like mine?

The souldiers also spit upon that face

Which Angels did desire to have the grace,

And Prophets once to see, but found no place:

Was ever grief like mine?

Thus trimmed forth they bring me to the rout,

Who Crucifie him, crie with one strong shout.

God holds his peace at man, and man cries out:

Was ever grief like mine?

They leade me in once more, and putting then

Mine own clothes on, they leade me out agen.

Whom devils flie, thus is he toss’d of men:

Was ever grief like mine?

And now wearie of sport, glad to ingrosse

All spite in one, counting my life their losse,

They carrie me to my most bitter crosse:

Was ever grief like mine?

My crosse I bear my self, untill I faint:

Then Simon bears it for me by constraint,

The decreed burden of each mortall Saint:

Was ever grief like mine?

O all ye who passe by, behold and see:

Man stole the fruit, but I must climbe the tree;

The tree of life to all, but onely me:

Was ever grief like mine?

Lo, here I hang, charg’d with a world of sinne,

The greater world o’ th’ two; for that came in

By words, but this by sorrow I must win:

Was ever grief like mine?

Such sorrow, as if sinful man could feel,

Or feel his part, he would not cease to kneel,

Till all were melted, though he were all steel.

Was ever grief like mine?

But, O my God, my God! why leav’st thou me,

The sonne, in whom thou dost delight to be?

My God, my Go————

Never was grief like mine!

Shame tears my soul, my bodie many a wound;

Sharp nails pierce this, but sharper that confound;

Reproches, which are free, while I am bound:

Was ever grief like mine?

Now heal thyself, Physician; now come down.

Alas! I did so, when I left my crown

And father’s smile for you, to feel his frown:

Was ever grief like mine?

In healing not myself, there doth consist

All that salvation, which ye now resist;

Your safetie in my sicknesse doth subsist:

Was ever grief like mine?

Betwixt two theeves I spend my utmost breath,

As he that for some robberie suffereth,

Alas! what have I stollen from you? death:

Was ever grief like mine?

A king my title is, prefixt on high;

Yet by my subjects am condemn’d to die

A servile death in servile companie:

Was ever grief like mine?

They gave me vineger mingled with gall,

But more with malice: yet, when they did call,

With manna, angel’s food, I fed them all:

Was ever grief like mine?

They part my garments, and by lot dispose

My coat, the type of love, which once cur’d those

Who sought for help, never malicious foes:

Was ever grief like mine?

Nay, after death their spite shall further go;

For they will pierce my side, I full well know;

That as sinne came, so sacraments might flow:

Was ever grief like mine?

But now I die; now all is finished.

My wo, man’s weal: and now I bow my head:

Onely let others say, when I am dead,

Never was grief like mine!