Reverence.

True rev'rence is, as Cassiodore doth prove,
The fear of God commix'd with cleanly love.

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

His Weakness In Woes.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

The Succession Of The Four Sweet Months

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

A Short Hymn To Lar.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Another Charm For Stables.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

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Reverence To Riches.

Like to the income must be our expense;
Man's fortune must be had in reverence.

Robert Herrick

Fear.

Man must do well out of a good intent;
Not for the servile fear of punishment.

Robert Herrick

To God.

Make, make me Thine, my gracious God,
Or with Thy staff, or with Thy rod;
And be the blow, too, what it will,
Lord, I will kiss it, though it kill:
Beat me, bruise me, rack me, rend me,
Yet, in torments, I'll commend Thee;
Examine me with fire, and prove me
To the full, yet I will love Thee;
Nor shall Thou give so deep a wound
But I as patient will be found.

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

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 His Saviour's Sepulchre: His Devotion.

Hail, holy and all-honour'd tomb,
By no ill haunted; here I come,
With shoes put off, to tread thy room.
I'll not profane by soil of sin
Thy door as I do enter in;
For I have washed both hand and heart,
This, that, and every other part,
So that I dare, with far less fear
Than full affection, enter here.
Thus, thus I come to kiss Thy stone
With a warm lip and solemn one:
And as I kiss I'll here and there
Dress Thee with flow'ry diaper.
How sweet this place is! as from hence
Flowed all Panchaia's frankincense;
Or rich Arabia did commix,
Here, all her rare aromatics.
Let me live ever here, and stir
No one step from this sepulchre.
Ravish'd I am! and down I lie
Confused in this brave ecstasy.
Here let me rest; and let me have
This for...

Robert Herrick