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By George Herbet   
Thursday, 03 March 2011

THROW away thy rod, 

Throw away thy wrath : 
                 O my God, 
Take the gentle path. 

For my hearts desire
 
Unto thine is bent : 
                 I aspire 
To a full consent. 

Nor a word or look 
I affect to own, 
                 But by book, 
And thy book alone. 

Though I fail, I weep : 
Though I halt in pace, 
                 Yet I creep 
To the throne of grace. 

Then let wrath remove ; 
Love will do the deed : 
                 For with love 
Stonie hearts will bleed. 

Love is swift of foot ; 
Love’s a man of warre, 
                 And can shoot, 
And can hit from farre. 

Who can scape his bow ? 
That which wrought on thee, 
                 Brought thee low, 
Needs must work on me. 

Throw away thy rod ; 
Though man frailties hath, 
                 Thou art God : 
Throw away thy wrath.
 
 
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