Poems of the Week: Easter
George Herbert, from The Temple
Love bade me welcome, yet my soul drew back, Guilty of dust and sin. But quick-ey'd Love, observing me grow slack From my first entrance in, Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning If I lack'd anything. "A guest," I answer'd, "worthy to be here"; Love said, "You shall be he." "I, the unkind, the ungrateful? ah my dear, I cannot look on thee." Love took my hand and smiling did reply, "Who made the eyes but I?" "Truth, Lord, but I have marr'd them; let my shame Go where it doth deserve." "And know you not," says Love, "who bore the blame?" "My dear, then I will serve." "You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat." So I did sit and eat.
The World
by Henry Vaughan
I saw Eternity the other night,
Like a great ring of pure and endless light,
All calm, as it was bright;
And round beneath it, Time in hours, days, years,
Driv’n by the spheres
Like a vast shadow mov’d; in which the world
And all her train were hurl’d.
The doting lover in his quaintest strain
Did there complain;
Near him, his lute, his fancy, and his flights,
Wit’s sour delights,
With gloves, and knots, the silly snares of pleasure,
Yet his dear treasure
All scatter’d lay, while he his eyes did pour
Upon a flow’r.
The darksome statesman hung with weights and woe,
Like a thick midnight-fog mov’d there so slow,
He did not stay, nor go;
Condemning thoughts (like sad eclipses) scowl
Upon his soul,
And clouds of crying witnesses without
Pursued him with one shout.
Yet digg’d the mole, and lest his ways be found,
Work’d under ground,
Where he did clutch his prey; but one did see
That policy;
Churches and altars fed him; perjuries
Were gnats and flies;
It rain’d about him blood and tears, but he
Drank them as free.
The fearful miser on a heap of rust
Sate pining all his life there, did scarce trust
His own hands with the dust,
Yet would not place one piece above, but lives
In fear of thieves;
Thousands there were as frantic as himself,
And hugg’d each one his pelf;
The downright epicure plac’d heav’n in sense,
And scorn’d pretence,
While others, slipp’d into a wide excess,
Said little less;
The weaker sort slight, trivial wares enslave,
Who think them brave;
And poor despised Truth sate counting by
Their victory.
Yet some, who all this while did weep and sing,
And sing, and weep, soar’d up into the ring;
But most would use no wing.
O fools (said I) thus to prefer dark night
Before true light,
To live in grots and caves, and hate the day
Because it shews the way,
The way, which from this dead and dark abode
Leads up to God,
A way where you might tread the sun, and be
More bright than he.
But as I did their madness so discuss
One whisper’d thus,
“This ring the Bridegroom did for none provide,
But for his bride.”
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Beginning with a first line with a very modern ring--Emily Dickinson might have written it--this is an elegant miniature dream-vision satire culminating in a Christian word to those who have ears that rounds out the poem as it completes the metaphor constructed in the first three lines. I couldn't help thinking of Piers Plowman, of which "The World" could almost be an abstract.
Vaughan is lumped in with the metaphysical poets, whose prime distinction is supposed to be the outre conceit. This poem signally lacks anything of the sort, instead consisting of depictions of character types realized by psychological rather than physical detail; e.g., the miser "sits pining," "scarce trust[s]," and "lives in fear"; what is physical in the portrait are the dry, hissing rhymes, "rust" and "dust." The metaphysicals are supposed to be crabbed, too, and often Donne certainly is, but even if one is surprised by the poem's master emblem, the ring, when its significance is revealed, Vaughan is a model of clarity in "The World."
Ray,
Thank you for the post. I wish you would comment a little more from time to time in this section. It is becoming one of my favorites to visit.
Mr. Olson I can't add much to what you wrote.
"To live in grots and caves, and hate the day
Because it shews the way,
The way, which from this dead and dark abode"
...
"But as I did their madness so discuss
One whisper’d thus,
This ring the Bridegroom did for none provide,
But for his bride.”
Philosophically the addition or adjunct to the Classical Western understanding is the metaphysical construct of 'Christ' for which in the tradition the also Human person Jesus is The vessel. Now we can all be metaphorically the brides of 'Christ' in meriting the Kingdom in the afterlife. That would be also partly a 'conceit' unless the metaphysical construct of 'Christ' is perfect as the Way for all both within and thus as a part of The World. The poet seems to agree-?-in the shedding in his perfect poem in my estimation, a last vestige of the grandiose--avoiding the mistake of Icarus--in behalf rather of his more appropriate place within the godhead rather than as if a god. Then too he doesn't need be prodded as if the world were *merely 'a dead and dark abode'. I would add though, even with christ or their interpretation, puritans still make that overly ambitious mistake (philosophically), in their being more perhaps akin to that which prompts icarus.
Mr. Yurick,
I would not have thought of comparing the souls ascending to Eternity and Icarus, but I appreciate your linkage of the Greek myth to the aspirations (?) of puritans. It's points up a sharp contrast, of course, one that is quite appropriate to Vaughan's experience, inasmuch as he lost his home to vengeful Puritan "redistribution" of the assets of their erstwhile enemies (Vaughan had been a royalist soldier).
Thanks Mr. Olson. I too, like Mr. Reavis find your remarks great in that they are edifying. Vaughan had a twin brother who was an engineer or some sort of a scientist? I think I would only add the sensibility which says something like 'long as the world (even if we don't necessarily feel as we might) isn't perceived as a throw away for She too is also divine.' I think the Puritans codified their mistakes as if they weren't mistakes. That's a problem or theirs unless it gets them constellated as enemies per se.
Another famous Christian poem, this by George Herbert:
Love bade me welcome, yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-ey'd Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lack'd anything.
"A guest," I answer'd, "worthy to be here";
Love said, "You shall be he."
"I, the unkind, the ungrateful? ah my dear,
I cannot look on thee."
Love took my hand and smiling did reply,
"Who made the eyes but I?"
"Truth, Lord, but I have marr'd them; let my shame
Go where it doth deserve."
"And know you not," says Love, "who bore the blame?"
"My dear, then I will serve."
"You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat."
So I did sit and eat.
A "Good Friday" poem that could possibly remind us all (again) that both Peter and Judas were traitors of a sort.
Thank you, Dr. Fleming, for the selection.
Not so famous that I had read it before. Thank you.
More than Vaughan's "The World", this is a limpid, delightful poem that brings to mind the lilting beauty of so many traditional English, Scots, and Irish love songs--"I sowed the seeds of love", "Loch Lomond", etc.--and I mean of their tunes more than their words. I don't think one would sing "The World". I can't help singing, or thinking I'm singing, Herbert's poem.
Yes, I too thank my friend Ray Olson for keeping this little blog alive and on track, and I'd welcome suggestions from him on poems to put in.
Next week, I want to switch gears a bit and take up conversational poems. This might need
Even as an atheist, I was charmed by the grave music of Herbert. By the way, like Vaughan, he had a philosopher brother, Lord Herbert of Cherbury.
Herewith some paragraphs from "The Church Porch" which serves as preface to the Temple.
Art thou a Magistrate? then be severe:
If studious; copie fair what time hath blurr'd;
Redeem truth from his jawes: if souldier,
Chase brave employments with a naked sword
Throughout the world. Fool not; for all may have,
If they dare try, a glorious life, or grave.
....
Doe all things like a man, not sneakingly:
Think the king sees thee still; for his King does.
Simpring is but a lay-hypocrisie:
Give it a corner, and the clue undoes.
Who fears to do ill, sets himself to task:
Who fears to do well, sure should wear a mask.
....
When once thy foot enters the church, be bare.
God is more there, then thou: for thou art there
Onely by his permission. Then beware,
And make thyself all reverence and fear.
Kneeling ne're spoil'd silk stocking: quit thy state.
All equall are within the churches gate.
Resort to sermons, but to prayers most:
Praying's the end of preaching. O be drest;
Stay not for th' other pin: why thou hast lost
A joy for it worth worlds. Thus hell doth jest
Away thy blessings, and extreamly flout thee,
Thy clothes being fast, but thy soul loose about thee.
In time of service seal up both thine eies,
And send them to thine heart; that spying sinne,
They may weep out the stains by them did rise:
Those doores being shut, all by the eare comes in.
Who marks in church-time other symmetrie,
Makes all their beautie his deformitie.
Let vain or busie thoughts have there no part:
Bring not thy plough, thy plots, thy pleasures thither.
Christ purg'd his temple; so much thou thy heart.
All worldly thoughts are but theeves met together
To couzin thee. Look to thy actions well;
For churches either are our heav'n or hell.
Judge not the preacher; for he is thy Judge:
If thou mislike him, thou conceiv'st him not.
God calleth preaching folly. Do not grudge
To pick out treasures from an earthen pot.
The worst speaks something good: if all want sense,
God takes a text, and preacheth patience.
He that gets patience, and the blessing which
Preachers conclude with, hath not lost his pains.
He that by being at church escapes the ditch,
Which he might fall in by companions, gains.
He that loves God's abode, and to combine
With saints on earth, shall one day with them shine.
Jest not at preacher's language, or expression:
How know'st thou, but thy sinnes made him miscarrie?
Then turn thy faults and his into confession:
God sent him, whatsoe're he be: O tarry,
And love him for his Master: his condition,
Though it be ill, makes him no ill Physician.
None shall in hell such bittter pangs endure
As those, who mock at God's way of salvation.
Whom oil and balsames kill, what salve can cure?
They drink with greedinesse a full damnation.
The Jews refused thunder; and we, folly.
Though God do hedge us in, yet who is holy?
Summe up at night, what thou hast done by day;
And in the morning, what thou hast to do.
Dresse and undresse thy soul: mark the decay
And growth of it: if with thy watch, that too
Be drown, then winde up both, since we shall be
Most surely judg'd, make thy accounts agree.
In brief, acquit thee bravely; play the man.
Look not on pleasures as they come, but go.
Defer not the least vertue: life's poore span
Make not an ell, by trifling in thy wo.
If thou do ill, the joy fades, not the pains:
If well; the pain doth fade, the joy remains.
For Lent I followed the meditations of a a friend on St. Peter. Herbert's "The Temple" strikes me very much as the response of St. Peter at the washing of the feet. St. Peter says at first that he will wash Christ's feet, then, after the gentle rebuke, St. Peter wants to washed all over. The difficulty of us small men to comprehend the love of God is hard enough, but when face-to-face with it knowing how to respond is almost impossible. When trying to speak of God's grandeur or beauty or love I often feel like St. Peter on Mt. Tabor, blurting out the first stupid thing that comes to my mouth. God bless the poets who know how to say these things much better than I.
And the line, "Who made the eyes but I" . . . wow!