PARADISE by GEORGE HERBERT

I BLESSE thee, Lord, because I GROW
Among thy trees, which, in a ROW,
To thee both fruit and order OW.

What open force or hidden CHARM
Can blast my fruit, or bring me HARM,
While the inclosure is thine ARM?

Inclose me still, for fear I START.
Be to me rather sharp and TART,
Than let me want thy hand and ART.

When thou dost greater judgements SPARE,
And with thy knife but prune and PARE,
Ev'n fruitful trees more fruitfull ARE.

Such sharpnes shows the sweetest FREND;
Such cuttings rather heal than REND;
And such beginnings touch their END.

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