The Forerunners
The Harbingers' Mark
The speaker sees white hair as a herald of age and protests the loss of wit, yet clings to the one truth that remains: 'You are still my God.'
The harbingers have come.1 Look, look at their mark; their color is white—and look at my head. But must they have my brain? Must they drive out those sparkling notions that were bred there?2 Must dullness turn me into a clod? Yet they have left me this: You are still my God.
My Best Room
The speaker accepts the harbingers' work, thanking them for leaving the heart untouched, and finds true wit in pleasing God alone.
You're good men, to leave me my best room—even all my heart, and whatever is lodged there. I don't care what becomes of the rest, so long as You are still my God; then I'm free of fear. He'll be pleased with that little song; and if I please him, I write finely and wittily.
Farewell to Sweet Phrases
The speaker bids good-bye to lovely metaphors but remembers how they were once washed with tears and brought to church as a gift for God.
Farewell, sweet phrases, lovely metaphors. But will you leave me like this? When before you only knew the doors of stews and brothels, I washed you with my tears, and more—I brought you to Church well dressed and clothed. My God must have my best, even all I had.✦3
A Warning to Lovely Language
The speaker warns enchanting language against being lured away from the Church by foolish lovers, for such a fall would soil its beauty and wound both the singer and the song.
Lovely, enchanting language, sugarcane, honey of roses—where are you going? Has some foolish lover lured you to your ruin? And will you leave the Church, and love a sty? For shame—you'll soil your embroidered coat, and hurt yourself, and him who sings the note.
True Beauty Above
Folly must speak in its own coarse tongue, while true beauty comes from above and rightly belongs with beautiful words.
If foolish lovers insist on loving dung, let them cover their shame with coarse canvas, not with fine tapestry: let folly speak in her own native tongue.✦4 True beauty dwells on high: ours is a flame only borrowed from there to light our way up to it. Beauty and beautiful words should go together.
Winter's Due, Inward Life
The speaker lets the birds of spring go, accepting winter's pale sign, because the single confession 'You are still my God' says all that matters and leaves the soul livelier within.
Still, if you go, I don't mind; go your own way. For "You are still my God" is all that you—perhaps with more embellishment—can say. Go, birds of spring: let winter take its due. Let a bleak paleness mark the door, so all within is livelier than before.56
Read the original English
The harbingers are come. See, see their mark; White is their colour, and behold my head. But must they have my brain? must they dispark Those sparkling notions, which therein were bred? Must dulnesse turn me to a clod? Yet have they left me, Thou art still my God.
Good men ye be, to leave me my best room, Ev'n all my heart, and what is lodged there: I passe not, I, what of the rest become, So Thou art still my God, be out of fear. He will be pleased with that dittie; And if I please him, I write fine and wittie.
Farewell sweet phrases, lovely metaphors. But will ye leave me thus? when ye before Of stews and brothels onely knew the doores, Then did I wash you with my tears, and more, Brought you to Church well drest and clad; My God must have my best, ev'n all I had.
Lovely enchanting language, sugar-cane, Hony of roses, whither wilt thou flie? Hath some fond lover tic'd thee to thy bane? And wilt thou leave the Church, and love a stie? Fie, thou wilt soil thy broider'd coat, And hurt thy self, and him that sings the note.
Let foolish lovers, if they will love dung, With canvas, not with arras clothe their shame: Let follie speak in her own native tongue. True beautie dwells on high: ours is a flame But borrow'd thence to light us thither. Beautie and beauteous words should go together.
Yet if you go, I passe not; take your way: For, Thou art still my God, is all that ye Perhaps with more embellishment can say, Go birds of spring: let winter have his fee; Let a bleak palenesse chalk the doore, So all within be livelier then before.
Scripture echoes
- ↩Luke.7.38 — and standing behind him at his feet, weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears, and wiped them with the hair of her head, and kissed his feet, and anointed them with the ointment.
- ↩Phil.3.8 — But more than that—indeed, I consider everything a loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whom I have lost everything and consider it all rubbish, so that I may gain Christ.
Notes
- 1 ↩Harbingers: advance officers who chalked white marks on doors to claim lodging for a royal train; here also forerunners of age (white hair).
- 2 ↩dispark: to throw open a park by removing its enclosure; metaphorically, to turn loose or scatter what was fenced in the mind.
- 3 ↩Early modern 'stews' means brothels or bawdy houses (often bathhouses used as such); kept beside 'brothels' to preserve Herbert's emphatic doublet.
- 4 ↩Source 'arras' is fine woven tapestry (named for Arras); rendered as 'fine tapestry' for modern clarity against 'canvas' as coarse cloth.
- 5 ↩Early modern "I pass not" means "I do not care / it does not trouble me," not "I do not pass by."
- 6 ↩"Fee" here is what is owed or due (winter's rightful claim), not a modern service charge.
The Temple: Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations companion
A prayer for every moment, already on your phone
Chosen Portion puts a curated historic prayer in front of you each day — so the words are there before the moment arrives.
Chosen Portion is the digital descendant of the carried prayer book: the short daily prayers this collection preserves, delivered one a day to your pocket.
- One short, memorable prayer delivered daily — build your repertoire a card at a time
- Prayers matched to real situations: fear, gratitude, decisions, grief, sleep
- Save favourites into your personal pocket collection you can open anywhere