John Milton wrote Sonnet #19 (“When I consider how my light is spent”) about his blindness several years after he became blind. The opening lines allude to Jesus’ parable of the talents found in Matthew 25:14-30. Milton feels that his talent for writing has been buried due to his blindness. In line 7 he is tempted to murmur against God when he comes to ask for an account, but Patience prevents him. Instead, he recognizes that God does not need man’s work or the gifts that God has given to him. God is a king with many servants, and we serve him best by bearing well whatever yoke he gives us. The poem ends with the well-known line: “They also serve who only stand and wait.”

SONNET 19: ON HIS BLINDNESS – by John Milton

When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodg’d with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide,
“Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?”
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies: “God doth not need
Either man’s work or his own gifts: who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed
And post o’er land and ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait.”

Related posts:

• John Milton’s 400th Birthday
• Background information on Sonnet 19
• Sonnet 7 – How soon hath Time

John Milton wrote Sonnet #7 (“How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth”) on the occasion of his 23rd birthday. He was in process of completing his Master of Arts degree and was contemplating his future career. One possibility was to become an Anglican priest. Another was to continue his work in poetry. In light of all this, he reflects on how quickly the last year has gone. Notice the pun on the word “career” in line 3, which can mean “a swift course” as well as “one’s profession or occupation in life.”

Milton aspired to be a great poet but was not satisfied with what he had written so far (“my late spring no bud or blossom show’th” in line 4). However, even though his literary output was not what he wanted, he was confident that an inner maturing was taking place which would bear fruit in its proper time (lines 7-8).

The final six lines of the poem show Milton’s determination to continue his work. He knows that God is the one who ultimately directs his steps, allots him his tasks, and determines the timing. Whether God has high or low (“mean” in line 11) tasks planned for him, nothing is wasted. The next year Milton embarked on a six year program of self-study in preparation to become a poet.

SONNET 7: HOW SOON HATH TIME – by John Milton

How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth,
Stolen on his wing my three and twentieth year!
My hasting days fly on with full career,
But my late spring no bud or blossom show’th.
Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth,
That I to manhood am arrived so near,
And inward ripeness doth much less appear,
That some more timely-happy spirits endueth.
Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow,
It shall be still in strictest measure even
To that same lot, however mean or high,
Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven;
All is, if I have grace to use it so,
As ever in my great Taskmaster’s eye.

Related posts:

• John Milton’s 400th Birthday
• Background information on Sonnet 7
• Sonnet 19 – When I consider how my light is spent

Here’s a fun poem I shared as part of a message on prayer on Sunday. (A big thanks to Thelma Campbell at Plantation Community Church who first introduced me to the poem.)

“PRAYER ROCK” (Author Unknown)

I’m your little prayer rock
and this is what I’ll do.
Just put me on your pillow
’til the day is through.

Then turn back the covers
and climb into your bed,
and, whack! your little prayer rock
will bump you on the head.

Then you will remember
as the day is through,
to kneel and say your prayers
as you intended to.

Then when you are finished
dump me on the floor.
I’ll stay there through the nighttime
to give you help once more.

When you get up next morning,
clunk! I stub your toe,
so that you will remember
your prayers before you go.

Put me back upon your pillow
when your bed is made,
and your clever little prayer rock
will continue in your aid.

Because your Heavenly Father
cares and loves you so,
He wants you to remember
to talk to Him, you know.

In discussion class after the service, we asked if anyone had actually used a prayer rock before. One woman said she used to but she didn’t need it anymore. Her husband joked, “Yeah, now she puts it on my pillow!” Do you use any types of “reminders” to help you remember to pray?

Click here for more poems.
Click here for poems by Ray Fowler.

This gorgeous picture of autumn leaves in Quebec brought to mind the following two poems by Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844-1889).

“PIED BEAUTY” – by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Glory be to God for dappled things—
    For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
        For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
    Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;
        And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
    Whatever is fickle, frecklèd (who knows how?)
        With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
                                                          Praise him.

GOD’S GRANDEUR – by Gerard Manley Hopkins

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
    It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
    It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
    And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
    And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
    There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
    Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs—
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
    World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

Click here for more poems.
Click here for poems by Ray Fowler.

Albert Mohler’s reflection on the recent power outage in Louisville, Kentucky reminded me of this (very sad) poem by Steve Turner.

“POWER CUT/ELECTRIC MARRIAGE” – by Steve Turner

When the lights
            went out
and the sounds
      died down
and the pictures
      stopped moving
there was nothing
left to say
      between Mr and Mrs.
Both forced within
the same dull radius
of candle flame
their silvered anniversary
barely showed a glint.
The stereogram had
now stopped its mad
                  singing.
There was no hot
coffee in which to
drown the need for
            conversation.
Television did not
feel bright enough
to play gooseberry
            that night.
Sheltering together
within the dull radius
                  of flame,
quartercentury lovers
wonder if it’s still
possible to be friends.
And on the night
electricity walked out
of their lives
there was nothing left to do
                        but sleep.

(Source: Steve Turner, Up To Date, pp. 28-29.)

I first read this Turner poem probably back in college days (early 1980’s). I found it incredibly sad then, and it has haunted me ever since.

Click here for more poems.
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“Only God can make a tree.”  (Alfred Joyce Kilmer)

That’s probably because it’s so hard to get the bark on. 

_____________________________________________

Here’s the complete text of the poem:

“TREES” – by Alfred Joyce Kilmer (1886–1918)

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

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This is a great poem for anytime of the year, but I especially like it as winter gives way to spring.

“A WINTRY SONNET” – by Christina Rossetti

A Robin said: The Spring will never come,
And I shall never care to build again.
A Rosebush said: These frosts are wearisome,
My sap will never stir for sun or rain.
The half Moon said: These nights are fogged and slow,
I neither care to wax nor care to wane.
The Ocean said: I thirst from long ago,
Because earth’s rivers cannot fill the main.

When Springtime came, red Robin built a nest,
And trilled a lover’s song in sheer delight.
Grey hoarfrost vanished, and the Rose with might
Clothed her in leaves and buds of crimson core.
The dim Moon brightened. Ocean sunned his crest,
Dimpled his blue, yet thirsted evermore.

Click here for a Good Friday Poem by Christina Rossetti.
Click here for a winter poem by Ray Fowler.

Here are three Easter poems by George Herbert, one of my favorite poets. As with all poetry, you will get the most out of the poems if you take them slowly and read them through several times, out loud if possible.
 

“EASTER (1)” – by George Herbert

Rise heart;  thy Lord is risen.  Sing his praise
                                Without delays,
Who takes thee by the hand, that thou likewise
                                With him mayst rise:
That, as his death calcined¹ thee to dust,
His life may make thee gold, and much more just.

Awake, my lute, and struggle for thy part
                                With all thy art.
The cross taught all wood to resound his name,
                                Who bore the same.
His stretched sinews taught all strings, what key
Is best to celebrate this most high day.

Consort both heart and lute, and twist² a song
                                Pleasant and long:
Or since all music is but three parts vied³
                                And multiplied;
Oh let thy blessed Spirit bear a part,
And make up our defects with his sweet art.

_____
1. calcined. Burnt to ashes.
2. twist. Weave together, as in polyphonic music.
3. vied. Increased in number by addition or repetition.

“EASTER (2)” – by George Herbert (This is the speaker’s response to his own call in Easter 1.)

I got me flowers to straw thy way;
I got me boughs off many a tree:
But thou wast up by break of day,
And brought’st thy sweets along with thee.

The Sun arising in the East,
Though he give light, and th’ East perfume;
If they should offer to contest
With thy arising, they presume.

Can there be any day but this,
Though many suns to shine endeavour?
We count three hundred, but we miss:
There is but one, and that one ever.

“EASTER WINGS” – by George Herbert (Notice how the shape of the words in each stanza resembles a pair of wings.)

    Lord, who createdst man in wealth and store,
            Though foolishly he lost the same,
                  Decaying more and more,
                        Till  he  became
                            Most poor:
                            With  thee
                        Oh  let  me  rise¹
                  As larks, harmoniously,
            And sing this day thy victories:
    Then  shall  the  fall  further  the  flight  in  me.

    My   tender   age   in   sorrow   did   begin:
            And still with sicknesses and shame
                  Thou didst so punish sin,
                        That  I  became
                            Most thin.
                            With  thee
                        Let me combine,
                  And feel this day thy victory:
            For,  if  I  imp²  my  wing  on  thine,
    Affliction   shall   advance   the   flight   in   me.

_____
1. rise. See Isaiah 40:31 and Malachi 4:2.
2. imp. To imp, in falconry, is to engraft feathers in a damaged wing, so as to improve or restore damaged powers of flight.

Source (for poems and footnotes): George Herbert: The Country Parson, The Temple (The Classics of Western Spirituality; 1981)

Click here for more poems by George Herbert.
Click here for more Easter posts.
Click here for an Easter poem by Ray Fowler.

Here is a poem for Holy Saturday by George Herbert, one of my favorite poets. As with all poetry, you will get the most out of the poem if you take it slowly and read it through several times, out loud if possible.
 

“SEPULCHER” – by George Herbert

Oh blessed body!  Whither art thou thrown?
No lodging for thee, but a cold hard stone?
So many hearts on earth, and yet not one
                                      Receive thee?

Sure there is room within our hearts good store;
For they can lodge transgressions by the score:
Thousands of toys¹ dwell there, yet out of door
                                      They leave thee.

But that which shows them large, shows them unfit.
Whatever sin did this pure rock commit,
Which holds thee now?   Who hath indicted it
                                      Of murder?

Where our hard hearts have took up stones² to brain thee,
And missing this, most falsely did arraign thee;
Only these stones in quiet entertain thee,
                                      And order.

And as of old, the law by heav’nly art,
Was writ in stone;  so thou, which also art
The letter of the word,³ find’st no fit heart
                                      To hold thee.

Yet do we still persist as we began,
And so should perish, but that nothing can,
Though it be cold, hard, foul, from loving man
                                      Withhold thee.

_____
1. toys. Trifling things.
2. took up stones. See John 10:13.
3. The letter of the word. See Hebrews 8:10 and Proverbs 3:3, 7:3.

Source (for poem and footnotes): George Herbert: The Country Parson, The Temple (The Classics of Western Spirituality; 1981)

Click here for more poems by George Herbert.
Click here for more Easter posts.
Click here for poems by Ray Fowler.

Here are two Good Friday poems by George Herbert, one of my favorite poets. As with all poetry, you will get the most out of the poems if you take them slowly and read them through several times, out loud if possible.
 

“GOOD FRIDAY” – by George Herbert (Notice how each stanza roughly resembles the shape of a cross.)

                Oh my chief good,
How shall I measure out thy blood?
How shall I count what thee befell,
                And each grief tell?

                Shall I thy woes
Number according to thy foes?
Or, since one star show’d thy first breath,
                Shall all thy death?

                Or shall each leaf,
Which falls in Autumn, score¹ a grief?
Or cannot leaves, but fruit, be sign,
                Of the true vine?

                Then let each hour
Of my whole life one grief devour;
That thy distress through all may run,
                And be my sun.

                  Or rather let
My several sins their sorrows get;
That, as each beast his cure doth know,
                  Each sin may so.

_____
1. score. Mark, as in counting.

“THE PASSION” – by George Herbert

Since blood is fittest, Lord, to write
Thy sorrows in, and bloody fight;
My heart hath store; write there, where in
One box doth lie both ink and sin:

That when sin spies so many foes,
Thy whips, thy nails, thy wounds, thy woes,
All come to lodge there, sin may say,
No room for me, and fly away.

Sin being gone, oh fill the place,
And keep possession with thy grace;
Lest sin take courage and return,
And all the writings blot or burn.

 
Source (for poems and footnotes): George Herbert: The Country Parson, The Temple (The Classics of Western Spirituality; 1981)

Related posts:
    • What’s So Good about Friday?
    • What is Good Friday?
    • Good Friday Poem by Christina Rossetti.

Click here for more poems by George Herbert.
Click here for more posts relating to the Cross.
Click here for more Easter posts.
Click here for poems by Ray Fowler.

Here are three of my favorite poems by George Herbert. As with all poetry, you will get the most out of the poems if you take them slowly and read them through several times, out loud if possible.
 

“THE ALTAR” – by George Herbert (Notice how the shape of the poem resembles an altar.)

A broken ALTAR, Lord thy servant rears,
Made of a heart, and cemented with tears:¹
Whose parts are as thy hand did frame;
No workman’s tool hath touch’d the same.
A HEART alone
Is such a stone,²
As nothing but
Thy pow’r doth cut.³
Wherefore each part
Of my hard heart
Meets in this frame,
To praise thy name.
That if I chance to hold my peace,
These stones to praise thee may not cease.⁴
O let thy blessed SACRIFICE be mine,
And sanctify this ALTAR to be thine.

_____
1. See Psalm 51:17.
2. See Deuteronomy 27:2-6 and 2 Corinthians 3:2-3.
3. See Ezekiel 37:25-27 and Zechariah 7:12.
4. See Luke 19:40.

“REDEMPTION” – by George Herbert

Having been tenant long to a rich Lord,
    Not thriving, I resolved to be bold,
    And make a suit unto him, to afford
A new small-rented lease, and cancel th’ old.¹

In heaven at his manor I him sought:
    They told me there, that he was lately gone
    About some land, which he had dearly bought
Long since on earth, to take possession.

I straight return’d, and knowing his great birth,
    Sought him accordingly in great resorts;
    In cities, theaters, gardens, parks, and courts:
At length I heard a ragged noise and mirth

    Of thieves and murderers:  there I him espied,
    Who straight, Your suit is granted, said, and died.

_____
1. th’ old. The Old Covenant, as opposed to the New Covenant of grace.

LOVE (III) – by George Herbert

Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back,
        Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed 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.

 
Source (for poems and footnotes): George Herbert: The Country Parson, The Temple (The Classics of Western Spirituality; 1981)

Click here for more poems by George Herbert.
Click here for poems by Ray Fowler.

“A verse may find him who a sermon flies.”
    – George Herbert (The Church Porch, line 5)

George Herbert is one of my favorite poets. He was born on April 3, 1593 into a privileged Welsh family. He earned two degrees at Trinity College in Cambridge. In 1620 he was elected public orator of Cambridge and was elected to Parliament in 1624. However, in 1627 he resigned from public office and soon after began to prepare for ministry instead.

When challenged by friends who felt that the ministry was beneath his station in life, Herbert responded:

It hath been formerly judged that the domestic servants of the King of Heaven should be the noblest families on earth. And though the iniquity of the late times have made clergymen meanly valued … I will labor to make it honorable, by consecrating all my learning, and all my poor abilities, to advance the glory of that God that gave them; knowing that I can never do too much for him that hath done so much for me, as to make me a Christian. And I will labour to be like my Saviour, by making humility lovely in the eyes of all men and by following the merciful and meek example of my dear Jesus. (from Isaac Walton’s “Life of Herbert,” in George Herbert: The Complete English Poems; Penguin Classics, 1991, p. 282)

In 1630 Herbert took a small church in Bremerton which he helped rebuild with his own funds. He spent the final three years of his life preaching, caring for the people in his parish and completing the two major works for which he is best known today: The Country Parson, a work of prose which explores the personal life and ministry of the pastor, and The Temple, a collection and sequence of poems on Christian themes.

Herbert died from tuberculosis in 1633. He was only forty years old. On his deathbed he sent a collection of his poems to a friend with the following instructions:

If he can think it may turn to the advantage of any dejected poor soul, let it be made public; if not, let him burn it, for I and it are the least of God’s mercies. (from Isaac Walton’s “Life of Herbert,” in George Herbert: The Complete English Poems; Penguin Classics, 1991, p. 311)

This collection of poems was The Temple, published later the same year Herbert died. It is a beautiful book of poems, filled with startling imagery, ingenious wordplay, and rich devotional thought. You may be familiar with some of Herbert’s poems in hymn form, such as “Come, My Way, My Truth, My Life,” “The God of Love My Shepherd Is,” “Let All the World in Every Corner Sing,” and “Teach Me, My God and King.”

Herbert was also well-known for his Proverbs, some of which we still use today:

• “When a friend asks, there is no tomorrow.”
• “His bark is worse than his bite.”
• “Whose house is of glass must not throw stones at another.”
• “Good words are worth much and cost little.”
• “The eye is bigger than the belly.”
• “Half the world knows not how the other half lives.”
• “He that lives well is learned enough.”
• “He loseth nothing that loseth not God.”

I hope I have whetted your appetite to learn more about George Herbert. This is Holy Week, and over the next couple days I will be posting some of Herbert’s poems to assist you in your reflection on the events of Good Friday, Holy Saturday and Easter Sunday. As with all poetry, you will get the most out of the poems if you take them slowly and read them through several times, out loud if possible.

I invite you to come back later today and throughout the weekend to enjoy these poems by George Herbert. May God bless you this Easter season as you meditate on what He has done for you in Christ our Savior.

Click here for more poems by George Herbert.
Click here for poems by Ray Fowler.