A poem for George Herbert
The days I waste inside my bed,
Are only rivaled by what’s said
Inside my weary sickened mind:
Thoughts that shake and thoughts that bind.
Will God save me? Is there time?
Up to heaven, may I climb?
A pastor’s life is justly done,
But can He forgive the sins of one?
Oh Magdalen, my mother dear,
Will soon your glowing face be near?
I am a seed sown in the earth,
Do I have inherent worth?
Will I grow towards my God,
Or will I fester in my pod?
With my maker I place my trust,
And as my body turns to dust,
May my spirit rise above,
And join Him in the fields of love.
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