The Temple: Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations/An Offering
For works with similar titles, see Offering.
¶ An Offering.
Come, bring thy gift. If blessings were as slowAs mens returns, what would become of fools?What hast thou there? a heart? but is it pure?Search well and see; for hearts have many holes.Yet one pure heart is nothing to bestow:In Christ two natures met to be thy cure.
O that within us hearts had propagation,Since many gifts do challenge many hearts!Yet one, if good, may title to a number;And single things grow fruitfull by deserts.In publick judgements one may be a nation,And fence a plague, while others sleep and slumber.
But all I fear is lest thy heart displease,As neither good, nor one: so oft divisionsThy lusts have made, and not thy lusts alone;Thy passions also have their set partitions.These parcell out thy heart: recover these,And thou mayst offer many gifts in one.
There is a balsome, or indeed a bloud,Dropping from heav'n, which doth both cleanse and closeAll sorts of wounds; of such strange force it is.Seek out this All-heal, and seek no repose,Untill thou finde and use it to thy good:Then bring thy gift, and let thy hymne be this;
Since my sadnesseInto gladnesseLord thou dost convert,O acceptWhat thou hast kept,As thy due desert.
Had I many,Had I any,(For this heart is none)All were thineAnd none of mine;Surely thine alone.
Yet thy favourMay give savourTo this poore oblation;And it raiseTo be thy praise,And be my salvation.