The Temple Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations

PSAL. 29.
In his Temple doth every
man speak of his honour.

Printed by Thom. Buck, and Roger Daniel, printers to the Universitie.

[Page 99]

1. Home

COme Lord, my head doth burn, my heart is sick
While thou dost ever, ever stay:
Thy long deferrings wound me to the quick,
My spirit gaspeth night and day.
O shew thy self to me,
Or take me up to thee!
[Page 100]
How canst thou stay, considering the pace
The bloud did make, which thou didst waste?
When I behold it trickling down thy face,
I never saw thing make such haste.
O show thy self to me,
Or take me up to thee!
When man was lost, thy pitie lookt about
To see what help in th' earth or skie:
But there was none; at least no help without:
The help did in thy bosome lie.
O show thy, &c.
There lay thy sonne: and must he leave that nest,
That hive of sweetnesse, to remove
Thraldome from those, who would not at a feast
Leave one poore apple for thy love?
O show thy, &c.
He did, he came: O my Redeemer deare,
After all this canst thou be strange?
So many yeares baptiz'd, and not appeare?
As if thy love could fail or change.
O show thy, &c.
Yet if thou stayest still, why must I stay?
My God, what is this world to me?
This world of wo? hence all ye clouds, away,
Away; I must get up and see.
O show thy, &c.
What is this weary world; this meat and drink,
That chains us by the teeth so fast?
What is this woman-kinde, which I can wink
Into a blacknesse and distaste?
O show thy, &c.
[Page 101]
With one small sigh thou gav'st me th' other day
I blasted all the joyes about me:
And scouling on them as they pin'd away,
Now come again, said I, and flout me.
O show thy self to me,
Or take me up to thee!
Nothing but drought and dearth, but bush and brake,
Which way soe're I look, I see.
Some may dream merrily, but when they wake,
They dresse themselves and come to thee.
O show thy, &c.
We talk of harvests; there are no such things,
But when we leave our corn and hay:
There is no fruitfull yeare, but that which brings
The last and lov'd, though dreadfull day.
O show thy, &c.
Oh loose this frame, this knot of man untie!
That my free soul may use her wing,
Which now is pinion'd with mortalitie,
As an intangled, hamper'd thing.
O show thy, &c.
What have I left, that I should stay and grone?
The most of me to heav'n is fled:
My thoughts and joyes are all packt up and gone,
And for their old acquaintance plead.
O show thy, &c.
Come dearest Lord, passe not this holy season,
My flesh and bones and joynts do pray:
And ev'n my verse, when by the ryme and reason
The word is, Stay, sayes ever, Come.
O show thy, &c.
This is a selection from the original text


apples, drink, meat, poor, sweetness, weary

Source text

Title: The Temple Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations

Author: George Herbert

Publisher: Thom. Buck, Roger Daniel

Publication date: 1633

Edition: 2nd Edition

Place of publication: Cambridge

Provenance/location: This text was transcribed from images available at Early English Books Online: Bibliographic name / number: STC (2nd ed.) / 13183 Physical description: [8], 192, [4] p. Copy from: British Library Reel position: STC / 890:03

Digital edition

Original author(s): George Herbert

Language: English

Selection used:

  • 1 ) tp, pp.99-101 ("Home")


Texts collected by: Ayesha Mukherjee, Amlan Das Gupta, Azarmi Dukht Safavi

Texts transcribed by: Muhammad Irshad Alam, Bonisha Bhattacharya, Arshdeep Singh Brar, Muhammad Ehteshamuddin, Kahkashan Khalil, Sarbajit Mitra

Texts encoded by: Bonisha Bhattacharya, Shreya Bose, Lucy Corley, Kinshuk Das, Bedbyas Datta, Arshdeep Singh Brar, Sarbajit Mitra, Josh Monk, Reesoom Pal

Encoding checking by: Hannah Petrie, Gary Stringer, Charlotte Tupman

Genre: Britain > poetry

For more information about the project, contact Dr Ayesha Mukherjee at the University of Exeter.