The Temple: Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations/Giddinesse

by George Herbert

¶ Giddinesse.

OH what a thing is man! how farre from power,From setled peace and rest!He is some twentie sev’rall men at leastEach sev’rall houre.

One while he counts of heav’n, as of his treasure:But then a thought creeps in,And calls him coward, who for fear of sinneWill lose a pleasure.

Now he will fight it out, and to the warres;Now eat his bread in peace,And snudge in quiet: now he scorns increase;Now all day spares.

He builds a house, which quickly down must go,As if a whirlwinde blewAnd crusht the building; and it’s partly true,His minde is so.

O what a sight were Man, if his attiresDid alter with his minde;And like a Dolphins skinne, his clothes combin’dWith his desires!

Surely if each one saw anothers heart,There would be no commerce,No sale or bargain passe: all would disperse,And live apart.

Lord, mend or rather make us: one creationWill not suffice our turn:Except thou make us dayly, we shall spurnOur own salvation.

---