The Temple: Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations/The Method

by George Herbert

¶ The Method.

POore heart, lament.For since thy God refuseth still,There is some rub, some discontent,Which cools his will.

Thy Father couldQuickly effect, what thou dost move;For he is Power: and sure he would;For he is Love.

Go search this thing,Tumble thy breast, and turn thy book.If thou hadst lost a glove or ring,Wouldst thou not look?

What do I seeWritten above there? YesterdayI did behave me carelesly,When I did pray.

And should Gods eareTo such indifferents chained be,Who do not their own motions heare?Is God lesse free?

But stay! what's there?Late when I would have something done,I had a motion to forbear,Yet I went on.

And should Gods eare,Which needs not man, be ty'd to thoseWho heare not him, but quickly heareHis utter foes?

Then once more pray:Down with thy knees, up with thy voice.Seek pardon first, and God will say,Glad heart rejoyce.

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