THE HOLDFAST.

I THREATNED to observe the strict decree
        Of my deare God with all my power and might :
        But I was told by one, it could not be ;
Yet I might trust in God to be my light.

Then will I trust, said I, in him alone.
        Nay, ev’n to trust in him, was also his :
        We must confesse, that nothing is our own.
Then I confesse that he my succour is :

But to have nought is ours, not to confesse
        That we have nought. I stood amaz’d at this,
        Much troubled, till I heard a friend expresse,
That all things were more ours by being his.
        What Adam had, and forfeited for all,
        Christ keepeth now, who cannot fail or fall.

—George Herbert

Poetry of the Cross: The Agonie.

Philosophers have measur’d mountains, Fathom’d the depths of seas, of states, and kings, Walk’d with a staffe to heav’n, and traced fountains: But there are two vast, spacious things, The which to measure it doth more behove: Yet few there are that sound them; Sinne and Love. Who would know Sinne, let him repair Unto mount Olivet; there shall he see A man so wrung with pains, that all his hair, His skinne, his garments bloudie be. Sinne is that presse and vice, which forceth pain To hunt his cruell food through ev’ry vein. Who knows not Love, let him assay And taste that juice, which on the crosse a pike Did set again abroach; then let him say If ever he did taste the like. Love in that liquour sweet and most divine, Which my God feels as bloud; but I, as wine.

—George Herbert, 1633

More Poetry of the Cross

• Rosemary at Seasonings of the Heart: In the Cross of Christ I Glory
• Dorothy at Field Stone Cottage: By the Cross of Jesus Standing
• Candyinsierras has written her own cross poem: The Shift of Spring
• Updated to add two more: Dorothy (see above) had added one of her own poems, too—Salvation.
  
• And Kim of The Upward Call has posted Crucifying.
  

You are welcome to join me in my celebration of Poetry of the Cross if you wish. Just post a cross-centered poem any day of this week (or every day of this week) and send me the link to your poem. I’ll link back to your poem in the next Poetry of the Cross post.

The Storm.

I

f as the windes and waters here below
                            Do flie and flow,
My sighs and tears as busy were above ;
                            Sure they would move
And much affect thee, as tempestuous times
Amaze poore mortals, and object their crimes.

 
Starres have their storms, ev’n in a high degree,
                            As well as we.
A throbbing conscience spurred by remorse
                            Hath a strange force :
It quits the earth, and mounting more and more,
Dares to assault thee, and besiege thy doore.

There it stands knocking, to thy musicks wrong,
                            And drowns the song.
Glorie and honour are set by till it
                            An answer get.
Poets have wrong’d poore storms : such dayes are best ;
They purge the aire without, within the breast.

—-George Herbert 

So far I have only one additional post to include in tomorrow’s weather report. (Thank you, Pam.) You can help make the next weather report fun and interesting by telling us what’s going on in your weather or posting a weather picture (or poem, like this one) and sending me the link.