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

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 Adam Peapes. Epig.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

To His Muse.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

To The Sour Reader.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

A Prognostic.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

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

His Anthem To Christ On The Cross.

    When I behold Thee, almost slain,
    With one and all parts full of pain:
    When I Thy gentle heart do see
    Pierced through and dropping blood for me,
    I'll call, and cry out, thanks to Thee.

    Vers. But yet it wounds my soul to think
    That for my sin Thou, Thou must drink,
    Even Thou alone, the bitter cup
    Of fury and of vengeance up.

    Chor. Lord, I'll not see Thee to drink all
    The vinegar, the myrrh, the gall:

Vers. Chor. But I will sip a little wine;
        Which done, Lord, say: The rest is Mine.

Robert Herrick

This Crosstree

              This   crosstree   here
              Doth    Jesus      bear,
              Who   sweet'ned   first
              The   death   accurs'd.
Here all things ready are, make haste, make haste away;
For long this  work will be,  and very short  this day.
Why then,  go on to  act:  here's  wonders to be  done
Before the last  least sand of  Thy ninth  hour be run;
Or ere dark  clouds do dull  or dead the mid-day's sun.
              Act  when   Thou  wilt,
              Blood  will  be  spilt;
              Pure  balm, that  shall
              Bring  health  to  all.
              Why     then,    begin
              To   pour   first   in
              Some   drops  of  wine,
              Instead    of    brine,
              To   search  the ...

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

To His Saviour.

Lord, I confess, that Thou alone art able
To purify this my Augean stable:
Be the seas water, and the land all soap,
Yet if Thy blood not wash me, there's no hope.

Robert Herrick

Christ.

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

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