August 13
Companions of the Way (Evening)Who redeemeth thy life from destruction, who crowneth thee with loving-kindness and tender mercies.
WHO would have thought my shrivel'd heart Could have recover'd greennesse? It was gone
Quite underground; as flowers depart To see their mother-root when they have blown;
When they together
All the hard weather,
Dead to the world, keep house unknown.
And now in age I bud again,
After so many deaths I live and write;
I once more smell the dew and rain,
And relish versing: O my onely light,
It cannot be
That I am he
On whom thy tempests fell all night.
These are thy wonders, Lord of love, To make us see we are but flowers that glide;
Which when we once can find and prove, Thou hast a garden for us where to hide.
GEORGE HERBERT
THE MASTER OF THE HARVEST