Читать книгу Selected Works - George Herbert - Страница 14

LORD, how I am all ague, when I seek

What I have treasured in my memorie!

Since, if my soul make even with the week,

Each seventh note by right is due to thee.

I finde there quarries of pil’d vanities,

But shreds of holinesse, that dare not venture

To shew their face, since crosse to thy decrees:

There the circumference earth is, heav’n the centre.

In so much dregs the quintessence is small:

The spirit and good extract of my heart

Comes to about the many hundreth part.

Yet, Lord, restore thine image, heare my call:

And though my hard heart scarce to thee can grone,

Remember that thou once didst write in stone.