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.

George Herbert Poems and Posts Roundup:

• Pastor and Poet George Herbert (1593-1633)
• Favorite Poems by George Herbert
• Good Friday Poems by George Herbert
• Holy Saturday Poem by George Herbert
• Easter Sunday Poems by George Herbert

“BOOKENDS” – by Ray Fowler

On frosty winter mornings when I rise
And venture forth to meet the stillborn dawn,
The prickly air pokes sharply at the flesh
And sweeps the dust of slumber from my eyes.

When winter falls with force upon my home
And icy fists rap sharp on window panes,
I draw my blanket snug about my heart
And let the warmth of sleep invade my bones.

________________________________________
Click here for more poems by Ray Fowler.

Here is a Christmas poem by Keith Patman from Jeff Johnson’s Centerpoint – Poetry & Music For Christmas CD. (“An album created to prepare oneself for the celebration of Christ’s birth over the entire Advent season. Centerpoint features Johnson’s music score of traditional and original Christmas melodies (which includes flutist, Brian Dunning) with poetry by Keith Patman read by Dallas McKennon. McKennon is famous for his character voice work with Walt Disney Productions.”)

“SNOW” – by Keith Patman (©1980)

Was it a cold awakening Christmas morning
In a wooden trough,
In spite of straw and swaddling clothes and angel songs?
That was not to be the last time you’d be laid upon the wood
(There were Herods, Judases from the start
Among the stars and shepherds).
And did they smile, those simple folk,
And kiss your tiny hands and weep delight?
They’d touch those hands again someday,
Believing you through cracks and scars.
Then oh! the million Christmas mornings
When you’d lie, a babe again,
Beneath a million million trees
And hear the countless tongues chanting your name.
And oh! the white snow on black shingles
Where icy crystals capture windows
And fires glow and mistletoe is wreathed and strung.
But ah . . . will they remember crimson
Dripping from the iron nails
And will they pray and will they know
A whiter white than
Snow?

HT: Rusty Lopez at New Covenant

Click here for poems by Ray Fowler.
Click here for more Christmas related posts.

John Milton wrote the following poem when he was only fifteen years old. (He would later go on to write the epic poem, “Paradise Lost.”) The poem is based on Psalm 136 and was later made into a hymn by church organist John Bernard Wilkes.

“ALL PRAISE TO GOD” – by John Milton

Let us, with a gladsome mind,
Praise the Lord, for he is kind:

For his mercies aye endure,
Ever faithful, ever sure.

Let us blaze his name abroad,
For of gods he is the God:

He, with all-commanding might,
Filled the new-made world with light:

All things living he doth feed,
His full hand supplies their need:

He his chosen race did bless
In the wasteful wilderness:

Let us then with gladsome mind
Praise the Lord, for he is kind.

 
This is just a selection of verses from the poem. The actual poem is much longer, repeating the lines “For his mercies aye endure / Ever faithful, ever sure” as part of each stanza.

Note: Click here to learn about The Bible Memory Version, a new tool developed especially for Bible memory.

Any Greek students out there? You should appreciate this little poem written by a first-year student of Scot McKnight [cited in McKnight’s New Testament Greek Grammatical Analysis, 76, n. 6.]

Greek is a language,
At least it used to be.
It killed off all the Greeks
And now it’s killing me.

All have died who ever spoke it.
All have died who ever wrote it.
All will die who ever learn it.
Blessed death, they surely earn it!

Aaaaah, the good old days of learning Greek. I remember working as a night watchman in seminary from 11 p.m. to 7 a.m., racing home, showering and eating breakfast, and then getting to Greek class by 8 a.m. Only by the grace of God I got through!

HT: Illumination

Related Posts:

• My Embarrassing First Day at Seminary
• Click here for poems by Ray Fowler.

This week marks the anniversary of the atomic bombings that took place at Hiroshima and Nagasaki on August 6 and August 9 in 1945. In remembrance of these events, here is a poem I wrote called “The Creative Bomb.”

“THE CREATIVE BOMB” – by Ray Fowler

The two-faced god of Janus peered
Intently to the right
And on his left perceived a boy
Who craved creative flight.

With powers of flux unknown to man,
And often blamed as chance,
He touched the lad’s still waiting brain
And watched the neurons dance.

Thoughts ravaged his right hemisphere,
Then, quiet as a theft,
Stole fast across the cortex
To be stored within the left.

Opposing forces caught in time
Wreaked havoc on his brain.
Janusian thoughts negated rhyme;
The contrapuntal reigned.

Destruction, death and severed souls
He could not vindicate.
Aha! Why could he not invent
A bomb that would create?

In chemistry and medicine
We have our antidotes;
The harmful drug may save a life
When taken in small dose.

So why not have a bomb that could
Explode a song of joy,
Shatter new frontiers of thought,
Create, and not destroy?

If dropped on Nagasaki such
A bomb would surely find
That space-time point of harmony
Before the dreadful grind.

No mushroom cloud of measured rage,
Instead our bomb revised
Would bloom a rose of beauty far
Above the watchful skies.

“But stop!” they say. “Review, and let
Your noble neurons rest.
You’ve failed to yield a product –
Creation’s acid test.

The bomb you praise does not exist;
You ponder it in vain.
Perhaps you are the product of
An overactive brain!”

“I have no bomb to give to you
And know not where to start.
And so with failure weighing deep
And heavy on my heart,

I humbly submit to you
(Correct me, if I’m wrong)
This simple poem, now become
One big, creative bomb.”

________________________________________
Click here for more poems by Ray Fowler.