Skip to main content

The Pulley

When God at first made man,
Having a glass of blessings standing by;
Let us (said he) pour on him all we can:
Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie,
                        Contract into a span.

        So strength first made a way;
The beauty flow'd, then wisdom, honor, pleasure:
When almost all was out, God made a stay,
Perceiving that alone of all his treasure
        Rest in the bottom lay.

        For if I should (said he)
Bestow this jewel also on my creature,
He would adore my gifts instead of me,
And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature:
        So both should losers be.

        Yet let him keep the rest,
But keep them with repining restlessness:
Let him be rich and weary, that at least,
If goodness lead him not, yet weariness
        May toss him to my breast.

   George Herbert.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Aponbepore

Your look is like the gaze of the sun, Like ice, it melts my heart. Your smile compares to an evening sunset over the sea, It summons and arouses my feeling for nature. Your sparkling white teeth Reminds me of the glittering stars On a full moon night. Just Like the moon peeps behind cloud, Your eyeballs stare beneath its lids. How much I long for that look The alluring one. To pull me out of my skin, To a journey beyond the creeks. Pope Fhysx © 2017

Happy Birthday Pope Fhysx (King Kyle)

The first time I got my soft hands on a poem, God bless the Pope, it's on his birthday. I wish him with this... Very soft poem I have a thing I name hope. Having it always helps me cope. Any day, anywhere tho' I  lope With any man and his scope. Any time, any dime, I go dope. I am with a thing I call hope. With it, I scale anything and make the slope Any length, any breath I still cope Any height, any range, I feel dope. Rightly, with pen in my hand I feel like Alexander Pope. What is the Roman Catholic Church without the Pope? Who am I? How can I? Without my hope. Long live my hope. Long live FHYSX tha Pope. Happy Birthday, Adeolu Timothy, aka Pope. King Kyle

Oh!

Oh! how I miss being a minor, The freshness of each day, Like a fruit produced just in time The belly aching kind of laughs Oh! How I miss being a minor, Good OI’ days buried Beneath the tide of memory Gone into oblivion Engrossed in daily busyness Oh! how I miss being a minor. Pope Fhysx © 2017