A Selection from the Lyrical Poems of Robert Herrick

230. A THANKSGIVING TO GOD, FOR HIS HOUSE

     Lord, thou hast given me a cell,
     Wherein to dwell;
     A little house, whose humble roof
     Is weather proof;
     Under the spars of which I lie
     Both soft and dry;
     Where thou, my chamber for to ward,
     Hast set a guard
     Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep
     Me, while I sleep.
     Low is my porch, as is my fate;
     Both void of state;
     And yet the threshold of my door
     Is worn by th' poor,
     Who thither come, and freely get
     Good words, or meat.
     Like as my parlour, so my hall
     And kitchen's small;
     A little buttery, and therein
     A little bin,
     Which keeps my little loaf of bread
     Unchipt, unflead;
     Some brittle sticks of thorn or briar
     Make me a fire,
     Close by whose living coal I sit,
     And glow like it.
     Lord, I confess too, when I dine,
     The pulse is thine,
     And all those other bits that be
     There placed by thee;
     The worts, the purslain, and the mess
     Of water-cress,
     Which of thy kindness thou hast sent;
     And my content
     Makes those, and my beloved beet,
     To be more sweet.
     'Tis thou that crown'st my glittering hearth
     With guiltless mirth,
     And giv'st me wassail bowls to drink,
     Spiced to the brink.
     Lord, 'tis thy plenty-dropping hand
     That soils my land,
     And giv'st me, for my bushel sown,
     Twice ten for one;
     Thou mak'st my teeming hen to lay
     Her egg each day;
     Besides, my healthful ewes to bear
     Me twins each year;
     The while the conduits of my kine
     Run cream, for wine:
     All these, and better, thou dost send
     Me, to this end,—
     That I should render, for my part,
     A thankful heart;
     Which, fired with incense, I resign,
     As wholly thine;
     —But the acceptance, that must be,
     My Christ, by Thee.