A broken ALTAR, Lord thy servant rears,
Made of a heart, and cemented with teares:
Whose parts are as thy hand did frame;
No workman's tool hath touch'd the same
A HEART alone
Is such a stone,
As nothing but
Thy pow'r doth cut.
Wherefore each part
Of my hard heart
Meets in this frame,
To praise thy Name:
That if I chance to hold my peace,
These stones to praise thee may not cease.
O let thy blessed SACRIFICE be mine,
And sanctifie this ALTAR to be thine.
George Herbert is a new find for me. I was flipping through Norton's and found this. Shaped and spaced poems particularly appeal to me... an elude to my visual learning style. This subject matter is weighty. A broken altar - that reoccurring paradox - that in dying - we are raised to life. It is one study that no one wants to descend to - but once studied, no one would dare resend it's gift.