THOU that hast giv'n so much to me, Give one thing more, a gratefull 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 hast 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 not withstanding, thou wentst on, And didst allow us all our noise: Nay, thou hast made a sigh and grone Thy joyes. Not that thou hast not still above Much better tunes then grones 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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DEAR OLD DICK by EDGAR LEE MASTERS ELEGY: THE GHOST WHOSE LIPS WERE WARM; FOR GEOFFREY GORER by EDITH SITWELL THE EVENING STAR by THOMAS CAMPBELL ON THE EMIGRATION TO AMERICA AND PEOPLING WESTERN COUNTRY by PHILIP FRENEAU MY AUNT by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES SAINT PAUL: 1 by FREDERICK WILLIAM HENRY MYERS SONNET WRITTEN IN THE FALL OF 1914: 3 by GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY |