Verse > Anthologies > The World’s Best Poetry > Vol. IV. The Higher Life
Bliss Carman, et al., eds.  The World’s Best Poetry.
Volume IV. The Higher Life.  1904.
IV. Sabbath: Worship: Creed
My Home
Robert Herrick (1591–1674)
A Thanksgiving to God for a House in the Green Parish of Devonshire

LORD, thou hast given me a cell
          Wherein to dwell,
A little house, whose humble roof
          Is weather proof;
Under the sparres of which I lie,        5
          Both soft and drie;
Where thou, my chamber for to ward,
          Hast set a guard
Of harmlesse thoughts, to watch and keep
          Me while I sleep.        10
Low is my porch, as is my fate;
          Both void of state;
And yet the threshold of my doore
          Is worn by the poore,
Who hither come and freely get        15
          Good words or meat.
Like as my parlour, so my hall
          And kitchen’s small;
A little butterie, and therein
          A little byn,        20
Which keeps my little loafe of bread
          Unchipt, unflead.
Some sticks of thorn or briar
          Make me a fire,
Close by whose loving coals I sit,        25
          And glow like it.
Lord, I confesse too, when I dine,
          The pulse is thine,
And all those other bits that bee
          There placed by thee;        30
The worts, the purslain, and the messe
          Of water-cresse,
Which of thy kindness thou hast sent;
          And my content
Makes those and my belovèd beet        35
          More sweet.
’T is thou that crown’st my glittering hearth
          With guiltlesse mirth,
And giv’st me wassaile bowles to drink,
          Spiced to the brink.        40
Lord, ’t is thy plenty-dropping hand
          That soiles my land,
And gives me for my bushel sowne,
          Twice ten for one.
Thou mak’st my teeming hen to lay        45
          Her egg each day,
Besides my healthful ewes to bear
          Me twins each yeare;
The while the conduits of my kine
          Run creame for wine.        50
All these and better thou dost send
          Me to this end,
That I should render, for my part,
          A thankfulle heart,
Which, fired with incense, I resigne        55
          As wholly thine;
But the acceptance, that must be,
          MY CHRIST, by thee.

Shakespeare · Bible · Strunk · Anatomy · Nonfiction · Quotations · Reference · Fiction · Poetry
© 1993–2015 · [Top 150] · Subjects · Titles · Authors · World Lit.