The Rod.

God's rod doth watch while men do sleep, and then
The rod doth sleep, while vigilant are men.

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

Upon Julia's Hair Filled With Dew

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

To His Honoured Kinsman, Sir Richard Stone.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Tears Are Tongues.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Ceremony Upon Candlemas Eve

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Staff And Rod.

Two instruments belong unto our God:
The one a staff is and the next a rod;
That if the twig should chance too much to smart,
The staff might come to play the friendly part.

Robert Herrick

To God.

God is all sufferance here; here He doth show
No arrow nockt, only a stringless bow:
His arrows fly, and all His stones are hurl'd
Against the wicked in another world.

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

Observation.

Who to the north, or south, doth set
His bed, male children shall beget.

Robert Herrick

To His Angry God.

Through all the night
Thou dost me fright,
And hold'st mine eyes from sleeping;
And day by day,
My cup can say
My wine is mix'd with weeping.

Thou dost my bread
With ashes knead
Each evening and each morrow;
Mine eye and ear
Do see and hear
The coming in of sorrow.

Thy scourge of steel,
Ah me! I feel
Upon me beating ever:
While my sick heart
With dismal smart
Is disacquainted never.

Long, long, I'm sure,
This can't endure,
But in short time 'twill please Thee,
My gentle God,
To burn the rod,
Or strike so as to ease me.

Robert Herrick

Doomsday.

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

Robert Herrick