Donkeys Delight

Ten mortal months I courted

A girl with bright hair,
Unswerving in my service
As the old lovers were.
Almost she had learned to call me
Her dear love. But then,

Till carelessly, unfairly,

A boy passed that way
Who set ringing with his singing
All the fields and lanes;
They gave him their favor,
Lost were all my pains.

One moment changed the omens,

She was cold again.
For carelessly, unfairly,
With one glance of his eyes,
A gay, light-hearted sailor
Bore away the prize,
Unbought, which I had sought with
Many gifts and sighs.

Then I passed to a Master

Who is higher in repute,
Trusting to find justice
At the worlds root.
With rigid fast and vigil,
Silence, and shirt of hair,
The narrow way to Paradise
I walked with care.
But carelessly, unfairly,
At the eleventh hour there came,
Reckless and feckless,

In stern disdain I turned to

The Muses service, then,
To seek how the unspeakable
Could be fixed by a pen,
Not to flinch though the ink that

Without a single claim,

A dare-devil, a neer-do-well
Who smelled of shag and gin;
Before me (and far warmer
Was his welcome) he went in.

I must use, they said,

Was my dearest blood, nearest
My heart, the richest red.
I obeyed them, I made them
Many a costly lay,

I stood still in the chill

Of the Great Morning,

Aghast. Then at last

Oh, I was late learning
I repented, I entered
Into the excellent joke,
The absurdity. My burden
Rolled off as I broke
Into laughter; and soon after
I had found my own level;
With Balaams Ass daily
Out at grass I revel,
Now playing, now braying
Over the meadows of light,
Our soaring, creaking Gloria,
Our donkeys delight.
C. S. Lewis
Poems p. 29-31

Giddiness
Oh, what a thing is man! how far from power,
From setled peace and rest!
He is some twenty sevral men at least
Each sevral hour.

Legion

One while he counts of heavn, as of his treasure:

But then a thought creeps in,

Lord, hear my voice, my present voice I mean,

And calls him coward, who for fear of sin

Not that which may be speaking an hour hence

(For I am Legion) in an opposite sense,

Will lose a pleasure.

Now he will fight it out, and to the wars;

And not by show of hands decide between

The multiple factions which my state has seen

Now eat his bread in peace,

And snudge1 in quiet: now he scorns increase;

Or will see. Condescend to the pretence

That what speaks now is I; in its defence
Dissolve my parliament and intervene.
Thou wilt not, though we asked it, quite recall

Now all day spares.

He builds a house, which quickly down must go,
As if a whirlwind blew
and crusht the building: and its partly true,

Free will once given. Yet to this moments choice

Give unfair weight. Hold me to this. Oh strain
A pointuse legal fictions; for if all
My quarreling selves must bear an equal voice,
Farewell, thou hast created me in vain.

C.S.Lewis

His mind is so.

Oh what a sight were Man, if his attires
Did alter with his mind;
And like a Dolphins skin2, his clothes combind
With his desires!
Surely if each one saw anothers heart,

Poems p. 119

There would be no commerce,

No sale or bargain pass: all would disperse,
And live apart.
Lord, mend or rather make us: one creation
Will not suffice our turn:
Except thou make us daily, we shall spurn
Our own salvation.

Remain snug and quiet; also, be stingy.

Hutchinson suggests Herbert here means not the

porpoise-like mammal, but the dorado, a mackerellike fish that changes color rapidly when taken out of
the water.

George Herbert
The Temple p. 249-250

Sonnet

Seek in myself the things I meant to say,

And lo! the wells are dry.

Dieu a tabli la prire pour communiquer ses

creatures la dignit de la causalit PASCAL
The Bible says Sennacheribs campaign was spoiled
by angels: in Herodotus it says, by mice
Innumerably nibbling all one night they toiled

Then, seeing me empty, you forsake

The listeners role, and through
My dead lips breathe and into utterance wake
The thoughts I never knew.

To eat his bowstrings piecemeal as warm wind eats ice.

And thus you neither need reply

But muscular archangels, I suggest, employed
Seven little jaws at labour on each slender string
And by their aid, weak masters though they be, destroyed
The smiling-lipped Assyrian, cruel-bearded king.
No stranger that omnipotence should choose to need
Small helps than greatno stranger if His action lingers
Till men have prayed, and suffers their weak prayers indeed
to move as very muscles His delaying fingers,
Who in His longanimity and love for our
Small dignities, enfeebles, for a time, His power.

C.S.Lewis
Poems p. 120
(God has established prayer in order to confer upon his creatures the
dignity of being able to cause something.)

Prayer
Master, they say that when I seem
To be in speech with you,
Since you make no replies, its all a dream
One talker aping two.
They are half right, but not as they
Imagine; rather, I

Nor can; thus, while we seem

Two talking, thou art One forever, and I
No dreamer, but thy dream.
C.S.Lewis
Poems p. 122-123

The coinage of their own unquiet thoughts, unless

Thou, of mere mercy, appropriate, and to thee divert

The Apologists Evening

Prayer

Mens arrows, all at hazard aimed, beyond desert.

Take not, oh Lord, our literal sense. Lord, in thy great,
Unbroken speech our limping metaphor translate.

From all my lame defeats and oh! much more

From all the victories that I seemed to score;
From cleverness shot forth on Thy behalf
At which, while angels weep, the audience laugh;
From all my proofs of Thy divinity,
Thou, who wouldst give no sign, deliver me.
Thoughts are but coins. Let me not trust, instead
Of Thee, their thin-worn image of Thy head.
From all my thoughts, even from my thoughts of Thee,
O thou fair Silence, fall, and set me free.
Lord of the narrow gate and the needles eye,
Take from me all my trumpery lest I die.

C.S.Lewis
Poems p. 129

Footnote to All Prayers

He whom I bow to only knows to whom I bow
When I attempt the ineffable Name, murmuring Thou
And dream of Pheidian fancies and embrace in heart
Meanings, I know, that cannot be the thing Thou art.
All prayers always, taken at their word, blaspheme
Invoking with frail imageries a folk-lore dream,
And all men are idolaters, crying unheard
To senseless idols, if thou take them at their word,
And all men in their praying, self-deceived, address

C.S.Lewis
Poems p. 129, alt., following
The Pilgrims Regress p. 145

An Hymn to God the Father.

Wilt Thou forgive that sin where I begun,
Which was my sin, though it were done before?
Wilt Thou forgive that sin through which I run,

And, what I must do then, think here before.

Since my Physicians by their loves are grown
Cosmographers; and I their map, who lie
Flat on this bed

And do run still, though still I do deplore?

When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done,
For I have more.

So, in His purple wrapt, receive me Lord!

By these His thorns, give me His other Crown
And, as to other souls I preachd Thy word,

Wilt Thou forgive that sin, which I have won

Others to sin, and made my sin their door?
Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I did shun

Be this my text, my sermon to mine own,

That He may raise; therefore the Lord throws down.
John Donne

A year or two:but wallowd in a score?

When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done,
For I have more.
I have a sin of fear, that when Ive spun
My last thread, I shall perish on the shore;
But swear by Thyself, that at my death Thy Son

Batter my heart,
three-persond God

Shall shine as He shines now, and heretofore;

And having done that, Thou hast done,

Batter my heart, three-persond God, for you

As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;

I fear no more.
John Donne

That I may rise and stand, oerthrow me, and bend

Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurpd town to another due,
Labor to admit you, but oh, to no end;

An Hymn to God, my God, in my

Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,

Sickness.

Yet dearly I love you, and would be lovd fain,

March 23, 1630.

But is captivd, and proves weak or untrue.

But am betrothd unto your enemy;
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again,

Since I am coming to that holy room,

Take me to you, imprison me, for I,

Where, with Thy Choir of Saints, for evermore

Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,

I shall be made Thy music, as I come

Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

I tune my instrument here at the door,

John Donne

Death, be not proud

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou thinkst thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and souls delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swellst thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
John Donne

(La Corona is a cycle of 7 sonnets in which the last line of each is

Ere by the spheres time was created, thou

the same as the first line of the next, though often with a twist in

Wast in his mind, who is thy son, and brother,

the meaning. The first line and the last of all are also the same:

Whom thou conceivst, conceived; yea thou art now

Deign at my hands this crown of prayer and praise. The circular

structure is similar to that of Herberts A wreath and Sins round.
The following are the first three sonnets and the 6th of the cycle.)

Thy makers maker, and thy fathers mother,

Thou hast light in dark; and shuttst in little room
Immensity cloistered in thy dear womb.

Holy Sonnets
La Corona
1
Deign at my hands this crown of prayer and praise,
Weaved in my low devout melancholy,
Thou which of good, hast, yea art treasury,
All changing unchanged Ancient of Days,
But do not, with a vile crown of frail bays,
Reward my muses white sincerity,
But what thy thorny crown gained, that give me,
A crown of glory which doth flower always;
The ends crown our works, but thou crownst our ends,
For at our end begins our endless rest,
This last first end, now zealously possessed,
With a strong sober thirst, my soul attends.
Tis time that heart and voice be lifted high,
Salvation to all that will is nigh.

2 Annunciation
Salvation to all that will is nigh,
That all, which always is all everywhere,
Which cannot sin, and yet all sins must bear,
Which cannot die, yet cannot choose but die,
Lo, faithful Virgin, yields himself to lie
In prison, in thy womb; and though he there
Can take no sin, nor thou give, yet he will wear
Taken from thence, flesh, which deaths force may try.

But made that there, of which, and for which twas;

Nor can be other means be glorified.
May then sins sleep, and deaths soon from me pass,
That waked from both, I again risen may
Salute the last, and everlasting day.

3 Nativity
Immensity cloistered in thy dear womb,
Now leaves his well-beloved imprisonment,
There he hath made himself to his intent
Weak enough, now into our world to come;
But oh, for thee, for him, hath th inn no room?
Yet lay him in this stall, and from the orient,
Stars, and wisemen will travel to prevent
Th effect of Herods jealous general doom.
Seest thou, my soul, with thy faiths eyes, how he
Which fills all place, yet none holds him, doth lie?
Was not his pity towards thee wondrous high,
That would have need to be pitied by thee?
Kiss him, and with him into Egypt go,
With his kind mother, who partakes thy woe.

6 Resurrection
Moist with one drop of thy blood, my dry soul
Shall (though now she be in extreme degree
Too stony hard, and yet too fleshly,) be
Freed by that drop, from being starved, hard or foul,
And life, by this death abled, shall control
Death, whom thy death slew; nor shall to me
Fear of first or last death, bring misery,
If in thy little book my name thou enrol,
Flesh in that long sleep is not putrefied,

I sought the Lord, and

afterward I knew
I sought the Lord, and afterward I knew
He moved my soul to seek Him, seeking

By prostrate spirits, day and night

Incessantly adored
How wonderful, how beautiful
The sight of Thee must be:
Thine endless wisdom, boundless power,
And aweful purity.

me;
It was not I that found, O Savior true;
No, I was found of Thee.
Thou didst reach forth Thy hand and mine enfold;
I walked, and sank not on the storm-vexed

O how I fear Thee, living God,

With deepest, tendrest fears
And worship Thee with trembling hope
And penitential tears
Yet I may love Thee too, O Lord,

sea;
Twas not so much that I on Thee took hold,
As Thou, dear Lord, on me.
I find, I walk, I love; but O the whole

Almighty as Thou art,

For Thou hast stooped to ask of me
The love of my poor heart.
Frederick W. Faber (1814-

Of love is but my answer, Lord, to Thee!

For thou wert long beforehand with my soul;
Always Thou lovedst me.
Anonymous
Music: George C. Chadwick

My God, How Wonderful

Thou Art
My God, how wonderful thou art,
Thy majesty, how bright,
How beautiful Thy mercy-seat
In depths of burning light.
How dread are Thine eternal years
O everlasting Lord,

1863)

Sins Round
Sorry I am, my God, sorry I am,

As peculiar notes and strains

Cure Tarantulas raging pains.
()

That my offenses course it like a ring.

My thoughts are working like a busy flame,
Until their cockatrice they hatch and bring:

Come away,
Help our decay.

And when they once have perfected their draughts,

Man is out of order hurld,

My words take fire from my inflamed thoughts.

Parceld out to all the world.

Lord, thy broken consort raise,

My words take fire from my inflamed thoughts,

And the music shall be praise.

Which spit it forth like the Sicilian hill.

They vent the wares, and pass them with their faults
and by their breathing ventilate the ill.
But words suffice not, where are lewd intentions:
My hands do join to finish the inventions.
My hands do join to finish the inventions:
And so my sins ascend three stories high,
As Babel grew, before there were dissentions.
Yet ill deeds loiter not: for they supply
New thoughts of sinning: wherefore, to my shame,
Sorry I am, my God, sorry I am.
George Herbert

Doomsday (fragment)
Come away,
Make no delay.
Summon all the dust to rise,
Till it stir, and rub the eyes;
While this member jogs the other,
Each one whispring, Live you brother?
Come away,
Make this the day.
Dust, alas, no music feels,
But thy trumpet: then it kneels,

George Herbert

Straight as a line, and ever tends to thee,

To thee, who art more far above deceit,

Love (III)

Than deceit seems above simplicity.

Give me simplicity, that I may live,

Love bade me welcome, yet my soul drew back,

Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyd Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning

So live and like, that I may know thy

ways,
Know them and practice them: then shall
I give
For this poor wreath, give thee a crown of

If I lackd anything.

praise.
A guest, I answerd, worthy to be here;
Love said, You shall be he.
I, the unkind, the ungrateful? ah my dear,
I cannot look on thee.
Love took my hand and smiling did reply,
Who made the eyes but I?
Truth, Lord, but I have marrd them; let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.
And know you not, says Love, who bore the blame?
My dear, then I will serve.
You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat.
So I did sit and eat.
George Herbert

A Wreath
A wreathed garland of deserved praise,
Of praise deserved, unto thee I give,
I give to thee, who knowest all my ways,
My crooked winding ways, wherein I live,
Wherein I die, not live: for life is straight,

George Herbert

Death
Death, thou wast once an uncouth hideous thing
Nothing but bones
The sad effect of sadder groans:
Thy mouth was open, but thou couldst not sing

I cannot skill of these thy ways.

Lord, thou didst make me, yet thou woundest me;
Lord, thou dost wound me, yet thou dost relieve me:
Lord, thou relievest, yet I die by thee:
Lord, thou dost kill me, yet thou doest reprieve me.
But when I mark my life and praise,
Thy justice me most fitly pays:
For, I do praise thee, yet I praise thee not:

For we considerd thee as at some six

Or ten years hence
After the loss of life and sense,
Flesh being turnd to dust, and bones to sticks.
We lookt on this side of thee, shooting short;
Where we did find
The shells of fledge souls left behind,
Dry dust, which sheds no tears, but may extort.
But since our Saviors death did put some blood
Into thy face;
Thou art grown fair and full of grace,
Much in request, much sought for, as a good.
For we do now behold thee gay and glad,
As at doomsday;
When souls shall wear their new array,
And all thy bones with beauty shall be clad.
Therefore we can go die as sleep, and trust
Half that we have
Unto an honest faithful grave;
Making our pillows either down, or dust.
George Herbert

Justice (I)

My prayers mean thee, yet my prayers stray:

I could do well, yet sin the hand hath got:
My soul doth love thee, yet it loves delay.
I cannot skill of these my ways.
George Herbert

The Strange Music

Other loves may sink and settle, other loves may loose and slack,
But I wander like a minstrel with a harp upon his back,
Though the harp be on my bosom, though I finger and I fret,
Still, my hope is all before me: for I cannot play it yet.
In your strings is hid a music that no hand hath eer let fall,
In your soul is sealed a pleasure that you have not known at all;
Pleasure subtle as your spirit, strange and slender as your frame,
Fiercer than the pain that folds you, softer than your sorrows name.
Not as mine, my souls anointed, not as mine the rude and light
Easy mirth of many faces, swaggering pride of song and fight;
Something stranger, something sweeter, something waiting you afar,
Secret as your stricken senses, magic as your sorrows are.
But on this, Gods harp supernal, stretched but to be stricken once,
Hoary Time is a beginner, Life a bungler, Death a dunce.
But I will not fear to match themno, by God, I will not fear,
I will learn you, I will play you and the stars stand still to hear.

G. K. Chesterton