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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=396366" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Thanksgiving</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh King of grief! (a title strange, yet true, <br>To thee of all kings only due) <br>Oh King of wounds! how shall I grieve for thee, <br>Who in all grief preventest me? <br>Shall I weep blood? why thou has wept such store<br>That all thy body was one door.<br>Shall I be scourged, flouted, boxed, sold? <br>'Tis but to tell the tale is told.<br>'My God, my God, why dost thou part from me? '<br>Was such a grief as cannot be.<br>Shall I then sing, skipping, thy doleful story, <br>And side with thy triumphant glory? <br>Shall thy strokes be my stroking? thorns, my flower? <br>Thy rod, my posy? cross, my bower? <br>But how then shall I imitate thee, and<br>Copy thy fair, though bloody hand? <br>Surely I will revenge me on thy love, <br>And try who shall victorious prove.<br>If thou dost give me wealth, I will restore<br>All back unto thee by the poor.<br>If thou dost give me honour, men shall see, <br>The honour doth belong to thee.<br>I will not marry; or, if she be mine, <br>She and her children shall be thine.<br>My bosom friend, if he blaspheme thy name, <br>I will tear thence his love and fame.<br>One half of me being gone, the rest I give<br>Unto some Chapel, die or live.<br>As for thy passion - But of that anon, <br>When with the other I have done.<br>For thy predestination I'll contrive, <br>That three years hence, if I survive, <br>I'll build a spittle, or mend common ways, <br>But mend mine own without delays.<br>Then I will use the works of thy creation, <br>As if I us'd them but for fashion.<br>The world and I will quarrel; and the year<br>Shall not perceive, that I am here.<br>My music shall find thee, and ev'ry string<br>Shall have his attribute to sing; <br>That all together may accord in thee, <br>And prove one God, one harmony.<br>If thou shalt give me wit, it shall appear; <br>If thou hast giv'n it me, 'tis here.<br>Nay, I will read thy book, and never move<br>Till I have found therein thy love; <br>Thy art of love, which I'll turn back on thee, <br>O my dear Saviour, Victory! <br>Then for thy passion - I will do for that - <br>Alas, my God, I know not what.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=George+Herbert">George Herbert</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=396366" data-title="The Thanksgiving de George Herbert" data-description="Oh King of grief! (a title strange, yet true, 
To thee of all kings only due) 
Oh King of wounds! how shall I grieve for thee, 
Who in all grief preventest me? 
Shall I weep blood? why thou has wept such store
That all thy body was one door.
Shall..."></div>
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