My Lenten morning devotionals begin with Malcom Guite’s “Word in the Wilderness: A Poem a Day for Lent and Easter.” Week two’s poems have as their topics prayer and Monday’s poem was by George Herbert entitled just that, “Prayer.” Herbert was a 17th Century English poet, an Anglican priest, a friend and contemporary of John Donne, and now considered one of the greatest Christian devotional poets of all time, although none of his poems were published during his lifetime.
Guite’s selected poems (including some of his own) are not the simplistic greeting card Christian poems we often see, but ones that are challenging and filled with depth. Guite’s devotions on these poems are perceptive and reflect a lifetime of not only writing poetry, but of his years teaching English literature at Cambridge in England. He, too, is an Anglican priest.
My collection of Herbert’s poems is the Cambridge edition edited by Helen Wilcox with its exhaustive notes and introductions to each poem. I have also been reading Herbert’s poems as part of my Lenten disciplines. I read his poem “Praise” this morning after reading and reflecting on Kelly Belmonte’s “How I Talk to God.” “Praise” is one of Herbert’s simpler poems. It is in a call and response pattern that alternates between “I will…” and “Thou…” Herbert’s use of the word “move” in his day meant to arouse emotions, thus expanded, line 4 could read, “I will arouse my emotions concerning thee.”
This rendition of his poem reflects 17th Century spelling and grammar.
May you during this second week of Lent be moved, too, by this wonderful poem by George Herbert.
Praise
King of Glorie, King of Peace,
I will love thee:
And that love may never cease,
I will move thee.
Thou hast granted my request,
Thou hast heard me:
Thou didst note my working breast,
Thou hast spar’d me.
Wherefore with my utmost art
I will sing thee,
And the cream of all my heart
I will bring thee.
Though my sinnes against me cried,
Thou didst cleare me;
And alone, when they replied,
Thou didst heare me.
Sev’n whole dayes, not one in seven,
I will praise thee.
In my heart, though not in heaven,
I can raise thee.
Thou grew’st soft and moist with tears,
Thou relentedst:
And when Justice call’d for fears,
Thou disentedst.
Small it is, in this poore sort
To enroll thee:
Ev’n eternitie is to short
To extoll thee.