Season of the Soul: An Offering

An Offering
Come, bring your gift. If blessings were as slow
As men's returns, what would become of fools?
What have you there? a heart? but is it pure?
Search well and see; for hearts have many holes.
Yet one pure heart is nothing to bestow:
In Christ two natures met to be your cure.


O that within us hearts had propagation,
Since many gifts do challenge many hearts!
Yet one, if good, may title to a number;
And single things grow fruitful by desserts.
In public judgments one may be a nation,
And fence a plague, while others sleep and slumber.

But all I fear is lest your heart displease,
As neither good, nor one: so oft divisions
Your lusts have made, and not your lusts alone;
Your passions also have their set partitions.
These parcel out your heart: recover these,
And you may offer many gifts in one.

There is a balsam, or indeed a blood,
Dropping from heaven, which does both cleanse and close
All sorts of wounds; of such strange force it is.
Seek out this All-heal, and seek no repose,
Until you find and use it to your good:
Then bring your gift, and let your hymn be this;

Since my sadness
Into gladness
Lord you do convert,
O accept
What you have kept,
As your due dessert.

Had I many,
Had I any,
(For this heart is none)
All were thine
And none of mine:
Surely yours alone.

Yet your favor
May give savor
To this poor oblation;
And it raise
To be your praise,
And be my salvation.
George Herbert