Doomsday.

Let not that day God's friends and servants scare;
The bench is then their place, and not the bar.

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

Panegyric To Sir Lewis Pemberton

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

No Lock Against Letchery.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

To Anthea

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Montes Scripturarum: The Mounts Of The Scriptures.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

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The Judgment-Day.

In doing justice God shall then be known,
Who showing mercy here, few prized, or none.

Robert Herrick

Upon The Troublesome Times.

O times most bad,
Without the scope
Of hope
Of better to be had!

Where shall I go,
Or whither run
To shun
This public overthrow?

No places are,
This I am sure,
Secure
In this our wasting war.

Some storms we've past,
Yet we must all
Down fall,
And perish at the last.

Robert Herrick

The Judgment-Day.

God hides from man the reck'ning day, that he
May fear it ever for uncertainty;
That being ignorant of that one, he may
Expect the coming of it every day.

Robert Herrick

Clouds.

He that ascended in a cloud, shall come
In clouds descending to the public doom.

Robert Herrick

The Goodness Of His God.

When winds and seas do rage
And threaten to undo me,
Thou dost, their wrath assuage
If I but call unto Thee.

A mighty storm last night
Did seek my soul to swallow,
But by the peep of light
A gentle calm did follow.

What need I then despair,
Though ills stand round about me;
Since mischiefs neither dare
To bark or bite without Thee?

Robert Herrick

To Doctor Alabaster.

Nor art thou less esteem'd that I have plac'd,
Amongst mine honour'd, thee almost the last:
In great processions many lead the way
To him who is the triumph of the day,
As these have done to thee who art the one,
One only glory of a million:
In whom the spirit of the gods does dwell,
Firing thy soul, by which thou dost foretell
When this or that vast dynasty must fall
Down to a fillet more imperial;
When this or that horn shall be broke, and when
Others shall spring up in their place again;
When times and seasons and all years must lie
Drowned in the sea of wild eternity;
When the black doomsday books, as yet unseal'd,
Shall by the mighty angel be reveal'd;
And when the trumpet which thou late hast found
Shall call to judgment. Tell us when the sound

Robert Herrick