Church Monuments

If you have never read any George Herbert, I commend him to you today. (Especially you Anglican types out there). I am a big fan of poetry. Lately I have been looking at George Herbert and some Billy Collins as well. (Not that they belong in the same breath... but I think Billy Collins has produced some beautiful poetry lately).

George Herbert was an Anglican Priest, and he took up holy orders late in life (kind of like me). He left a rock star life as a scholar and politician to become a parish priest in a small town near Salisbury, England. He was known as a kind and compassionate pastor providing comfort for the sick, food for the hungry and a love for the sacraments. I think he ought to be the patron saint of second career clergy.

A couple of spots in this poem that are worth noting:

I like this line:
"That flesh is but the glass which holds the dust
That measures all our time; which also shall
Be crumbled into dust."


I like how he juxtaposes the image of an hourglass on to the image of human flesh being "glass which holds the dust..." I can picture him going to his old Parish church and praying by himself in a pew, looking around at all the dust covering the ancient structure.

I also enjoy how he captures the moment of being still- doing what the Buddhists call "stopping." He seems to be "stopped" thoroughly in the moment of prayer, taking in what surrounds him in the moment.

Enjoy!

Church Monuments- George Herbert


While that my soul repairs to her devotion,
Here I intomb my flesh, that it betimes
May take acquaintance of this heap of dust;
To which the blast of death's incessant motion,
Fed with the exhalation of our crimes,
Drives all at last. Therefore I gladly trust

My body to this school, that it may learn
To spell his elements, and find his birth
Written in dusty heraldry and lines;
Which dissolution sure doth best discern,
Comparing dust with dust, and earth with earth.
These laugh at jet and marble put for signs,

To sever the good fellowship of dust,
And spoil the meeting. What shall point out them,
When they shall bow, and kneel, and fall down flat
To kiss those heaps, which now they have in trust?
Dear flesh, while I do pray, learn here thy stem
And true descent, that when thou shalt grow fat

And wanton in thy cravings, thou mayst know
That flesh is but the glass which holds the dust
That measures all our time; which also shall
Be crumbled into dust. Mark, here below
How tame these ashes are, how free from lust,
That thou mayst fit thyself against thy fall.