In the calendar of the Christian year this Sunday of Advent, the third of four, is given to the theme of love. As there is always more to be said than time allows, love leaves a goodly number of leftovers in its wake. One of these is from the 17th century English metaphysical poet, George Herbert. It takes a while to hear the cadence of English verse gone by, but worth the wait. Besides, who cannot give full attention to any soul that addresses Lady Love as ‘my dear?’
Love bade me welcome, yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-ey’d Love, observing me grow slack
from my first entrance in,
drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
if I lack’d anything.
‘A guest,’ I answere’d, ‘worthy to be here’;
Love said, ‘You shall be he.’
‘I, the unkind, the ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
I cannot look on Thee.’
Love took my hand and smiling did reply,
‘Who made the eyes but I?’
‘Truth, Lord, but I have marr’d them;
Let my shame go where it doth deserve.’
‘And know you not,’ says Love, ‘who bore the blame?’
‘My dear, then I will serve.’
‘You must sit down,’ says Love, ‘and taste my meat.’
So I did sit and eat.
vitalwholeness 