Heaven.

Heaven is not given for our good works here;
Yet it is given to the labourer.

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

Thanksgiving.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Welcome What Comes.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

To Sappho.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Sabbaths.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

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Heaven.

Heaven is most fair; but fairer He
That made that fairest canopy.

Robert Herrick

To Heaven

Open thy gates
To him who weeping waits,
And might come in,
But that held back by sin.
Let mercy be
So kind, to set me free,
And I will straight
Come in, or force the gate.

Robert Herrick

God's Blessing.

In vain our labours are whatsoe'er they be,
Unless God gives the benedicite.

Robert Herrick

On Heaven.

Permit mine eyes to see
Part, or the whole of Thee,
O happy place!
Where all have grace,
And garlands shar'd,
For their reward;
Where each chaste soul
In long white stole,
And palms in hand,
Do ravish'd stand;
So in a ring,
The praises sing
Of Three in One
That fill the Throne;
While harps and viols then
To voices say, Amen.

Robert Herrick

To God.

Do with me, God, as Thou didst deal with John,
Who writ that heavenly Revelation.
Let me, like him, first cracks of thunder hear,
Then let the harps enchantments stroke mine ear:
Here give me thorns, there, in Thy kingdom, set
Upon my head the golden coronet;
There give me day; but here my dreadful night:
My sackcloth here; but there my stole of white.

Robert Herrick

To God.

Pardon me, God, once more I Thee entreat,
That I have placed Thee in so mean a seat
Where round about Thou seest but all things vain,
Uncircumcis'd, unseason'd and profane.
But as Heaven's public and immortal eye
Looks on the filth, but is not soil'd thereby,
So Thou, my God, may'st on this impure look,
But take no tincture from my sinful book:
Let but one beam of glory on it shine,
And that will make me and my work divine.

Robert Herrick