by George Herbert
I bless thee, Lord, because I grow
Among the trees, which in a row
To thee both fruit and order ow
What open force, or hidden charm
Can blast my fruit, or bring me harm,
While the inclosure is thine arm?
Inclose me still for fear I start;
Be to me rather sharp and tart,
Than let me want they hand and art.
When thou dost greater judgements spare,
And with thy knife but prune and pare,
Even fruitful trees more fruitful are:
Such sharpness shows the sweetest frend,
Such cuttings rather heal than rend,
And such beginnings touch their end.
This poet has so far amazed me with the truthful paradox that shows up in his style. The poem in particular I found inspriring.
