Season of the Soul: Justice

JUSTICE (1)

I cannot make sense of your ways.
Lord, you did make me, yet you woundest me;
Lord, you do wound me, yet you do relieve me:
Lord, you relievest, yet I die by thee:
Lord, you do kill me, yet you do reprieve me.

But when I mark my life and praise,
Your justice me most fitly pays:

For, I do praise you, yet I praise you not:
My prayers mean you, yet my prayers stray:
I would do well, yet sin the hand has got:
My soul does love you, yet It loves delay.
I cannot value these my ways.

George Herbert