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KILL me not every day, Thou Lord of life ; since Thy one death for me Is more than all my deaths can be, Though I in broken pay, Die over each hour of Methusalem's stay. If all men's tears were let Into one common sewer, sea, and brine ; What were they all, compared to Thine? Wherein if they were set, They would discolour Thy most bloody sweat. Thou art my grief alone, Thou Lord conceal it not ; and as Thou art All my delight, so all my smart : Thy cross took up in one, By way of imprest, all my future moan. |
Source:
Herbert, George. The Works of George Herbert in Prose and Verse.
New York: John Wurtele Lovell, 1881. 145-146.
 | to Works of George Herbert |
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Created by Anniina Jokinen on June 30, 2001.
