Recovered Greenness

5 May 2022 | Our Father | 0 comments

How fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean

Are thy returns! ev’n as the flowers of spring;

To which, beside their own demean,

The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring.

Grief melts away

Like snow in May,

As if there were no such thing.

 

Who would have thought my shrivelled heart

Could have recovered greenness? It was gone

Quite underground; as flowers depart

To see their mother root, when they have blown;

Where they together

All the hard weather,

Dead to the world, keep house unknown.

 

These are thy wonders, Lord of power,

Killing and quickning, bringing down to hell

And up to heaven in an hour;

Making a chiming of a passing-bell.

We say amiss,

This or that is:

Thy word is all, if we could spell….

 

George Herbert (1593-1633).

Notes from the Compiler

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