Christmas (I)

George HerbertGeorge Herbert

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After all pleasures as I rid one day,
My horse and I, both tired, body and mind,
With full cry of affections, quite astray;
I took up the next inn I could find.There when I came, whom found I but my dear,
My dearest Lord, expecting till the grief
Of pleasures brought me to Him, ready there
To be all passengers’ most sweet relief?Oh Thou, whose glorious, yet contracted light,
Wrapt in night’s mantle, stole into a manger;
Since my dark soul and brutish is Thy right,
To man of all beasts be not Thou a stranger:Furnish and deck my soul, that Thou mayst have
A better lodging, than a rack, or grave.
George Herbert
About the poet

George Herbert

1593 - 1633/WelshGeorge Herbert was a Welsh poet, orator and priest. Throughout his life he wrote religious poems characterized by a precision of language, a metrical versatility, and an ingenious use of imagery or conceits that was favoured by the metaphysic…

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