To God.

Thou hast promis'd, Lord, to be
With me in my misery;
Suffer me to be so bold
As to speak, Lord, say and hold.

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

Grief.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Upon Flood Or A Thankful Man.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Kisses Loathsome.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

To Oenone

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.

To God.

Come to me, God; but do not come
To me as to the General Doom
In power; or come Thou in that state
When Thou Thy laws did'st promulgate,
Whenas the mountain quaked for dread,
And sullen clouds bound up his head.
No; lay Thy stately terrors by
To talk with me familiarly;
For if Thy thunder-claps I hear,
I shall less swoon than die for fear.
Speak Thou of love and I'll reply
By way of Epithalamy,
Or sing of mercy and I'll suit
To it my viol and my lute;
Thus let Thy lips but love distil,
Then come, my God, and hap what will.

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.

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.

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

Another To God.

Lord, do not beat me,
Since I do sob and cry,
And swoon away to die,
Ere Thou dost threat me.
Lord, do not scourge me,
If I by lies and oaths
Have soil'd myself or clothes,
But rather purge me.

Robert Herrick

To His Dear God.

    I'll hope no more
For things that will not come;
And if they do, they prove but cumbersome.
    Wealth brings much woe;
And, since it fortunes so,
'Tis better to be poor
    Than so t' abound
    As to be drown'd
Or overwhelm'd with store.

    Pale care, avaunt!
I'll learn to be content
With that small stock Thy bounty gave or lent.
    What may conduce
To my most healthful use,
Almighty God, me grant;
    But that, or this,
    That hurtful is,
Deny Thy suppliant.

Robert Herrick