Quote

Here a little child I stand, Heaving up my either hand Cold as paddocks though they be, Here I lift them up to Thee, for a benison to fall on our meat, and on us all. Amen.

Robert Herrick

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Robert Herrick
Age: 83 †
Born: 1591
Born: August 24
Died: 1674
Died: October 12
Poet
Writer
London
England
Child
Lift
Though
Lifts
Fall
Meat
Hands
Thee
Littles
Cold
Little
Stand
Children
Either
Heaving
Hand
Amen

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A sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction.
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Praise they that will times past, I joy to see My selfe now live: this age best pleaseth mee.
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In ways to greatness think on this, That slippery all ambition is
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Learn this of me, where'er thy lot doth fall, Short lot, or not, to be content with all.
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Bid me to live, and I will liveThy Protestant to be,Or bid me love, and I will giveA loving heart to thee.
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Things are evermore sincere / Candor here, and lustre there / Delighting.
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In prayer the lips ne'er act the winning part, Without the sweet concurrence of the heart.
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That age is best which is the first When youth and blood are warmer.
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The person lives twice who lives the first life well
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Bid me to love, and I will give a loving heart to thee.
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Tis hard to find God, but to comprehend Him, as He is, is labour without end.
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Tis not the food, but the content, That makes the table's merriment.
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You say to me-wards your affection's strong Pray love me little, so you love me long.
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When words we want, love teacheth to indite And what we blush to speak, she bids us write.
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Conquer we shall, but, we must first contend! It's not the fight that crowns us, but the end.
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When one is past, another care we have Thus woe succeeds a woe, as wave a wave.
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No, not Jove Himselfe, at one time, can be wise and love.
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Tears are the noble language of the eye.
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A winning wave, (deserving note.) In the tempestuous petticote, A careless shoe-string, in whose tye I see a wilde civility,-- Doe more bewitch me than when art Is too precise in every part.
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For pitty, Sir, find out that Bee Which bore my Love away I'le seek him in your Bonnet brave, I'le seek him in your eyes.
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