George Herbert: 100 Poems

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!

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 self to me,

Or take me up to thee!

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 self to me,

Or take me up to thee!

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 self to me,

Or take me up to thee!

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 self to me,

Or take me up to thee!

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 self to me,

Or take me up to thee!

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.