Christ's Twofold Coming.

Thy former coming was to cure
My soul's most desp'rate calenture;
Thy second advent, that must be
To heal my earth's infirmity.

Robert Herrick

Robert Herrick was a 17th-century English lyric poet and cleric. He is known for his book of poems, "Hesperides," which includes the carpe diem poem "To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time." His works are noted for their clarity, simplicity, and musical quality. Herrick was also a vicar of Dean Prior in Devon, despite being ejected during the English Civil War and later reinstated.

Robert Herrick

Cunctation In Correction.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Upon Rook. Epig.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

The Heart

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Good Precepts, Or Counsel

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

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Coming To Christ.

To him who longs unto his Christ to go,
Celerity even itself is slow.

Robert Herrick

To Christ.

I crawl, I creep; my Christ, I come
To Thee for curing balsamum:
Thou hast, nay more, Thou art the tree
Affording salve of sovereignty.
My mouth I'll lay unto Thy wound
Bleeding, that no blood touch the ground:
For, rather than one drop shall fall
To waste, my JESU, I'll take all.

Robert Herrick

Christ.

To all our wounds here, whatsoe'er they be,
Christ is the one sufficient remedy.

Robert Herrick

His Coming To The Sepulchre.

Hence they have borne my Lord; behold! the stone
Is rolled away and my sweet Saviour's gone.
Tell me, white angel, what is now become
Of Him we lately sealed up in this tomb?
Is He, from hence, gone to the shades beneath,
To vanquish hell as here He conquered death?
If so, I'll thither follow without fear,
And live in hell if that my Christ stays there.

Of all the good things whatsoe'er we do,
God is the {ARCHÊ}, and the {TELOS} too.

Robert Herrick

Christ's Suffering.

Justly our dearest Saviour may abhor us,
Who hath more suffered by us far, than for us.

Robert Herrick

To God.

I'll come, I'll creep, though Thou dost threat,
Humbly unto Thy mercy-seat:
When I am there, this then I'll do,
Give Thee a dart, and dagger too;
Next, when I have my faults confessed,
Naked I'll show a sighing breast;
Which if that can't Thy pity woo,
Then let Thy justice do the rest
    And strike it through.

Robert Herrick