Thou that hast giv'n so much to me, Give one thing more, a grateful heart. See how thy beggar works on thee By art. He makes thy gifts occasion more, And sayes, If he in this be crost, All thou has giv'n him heretofore Is lost. But thou didst reckon, when at first Thy word our hearts and hands did crave, What it would come to at the worst To save. Perpetuall knockings at thy doore, Tears sullying thy transparent rooms, Gift upon gift, much would have more, And comes. This notwithstanding, thou wentst on, And didst allow us all our noise: Nay, thou has made a sigh and groan Thy joyes. Not that thou has not still above Much better tunes, than groans can make; But that these countrey-aires thy love Did take. Wherefore I crie, and crie again; And in no quiet canst thou be, Till I a thankfull heart obtain Of thee: Not thankfull, when it pleaseth me; As if thy blessings had spare dayes: But such a heart, whose pulse may be Thy praise. - George Herbert, (1633) was...
justinpw@gmail.com, 574.360.8046