Throw away thy rod,
Throw away thy wrath :
O my God,
Take the gentle path.
For my hearts desire
Unto thine is bent :
I aspire
To a full consent.
Nor a word or look
I affect to own,
But by book,
And thy book alone.
Though I fail, I weep :
Though I halt in pace,
Yet I creep
To the throne of grace.
Then let wrath remove ;
Love will do the deed :
For with love
Stone hearts will bleed.
Love is swift of foot ;
Love’s a man of warre,
And can shoot,
And can hit from farre.
Who can scape his bow ?
That which wrought on thee,
Brought thee low,
Needs must work on me.
Throw away thy rod ;
Though man frailties hath,
Thou art God :
Throw away thy wrath.
From: Herbert, George. The Poetical Works of George Herbert.
New York: D. Appleton and Co., 1857.