Christian Art | George Herbert | The Temple | The Church | The Pearl
George Herbert | The Temple | The Church | The Pearl
I know the wayes of learning; both the head
And pipes that feed the presse, and make it runne;
What reason hath from nature borrowed,
Or of it self, like a good huswife, spunne
In laws and policie; what the starres conspire,
What willing nature speaks, what forc’d by fire;
Both th’ old discoveries, and the new-found seas,
The stock and surplus, cause and historie:
All these stand open, or I have the keyes:
Yet I love thee.
I know the wayes of honour, what maintains
The quick returns of courtesie and wit:
In vies of favours whether partie gains,
When glorie swells the heart, and moldeth it
To all expressions both of hand and eye,
Which on the world a true-love-knot may tie,
And bear the bundle, wheresoe’re it goes:
How many drammes of spirit there must be
To sell my life unto my friends or foes:
Yet I love thee.
I know the wayes of pleasure, the sweet strains,
The lullings and the relishes of it;
The propositions of hot bloud and brains;
What mirth and musick mean; what love and wit
Have done these twentie hundred yeares, and more:
I know the projects of unbridled store:
My stuffe is flesh, not brasse; my senses live,
And grumble oft, that they have more in me
Then he that curbs them, being but one to five:
Yet I love thee.
I know all these, and have them in my hand:
Therefore not sealed, but with open eyes
I flie to thee, and fully understand
Both the main sale, and the commodities;
And at what rate and price I have thy love;
With all the circumstances that may move:
Yet through the labyrinths, not my groveling wit,
But thy silk twist let down from heav’n to me,
Did both conduct and teach me, how by it
To climbe to thee.
George Herbert | The Temple | The Church | The Pearl
George Herbert’s poem reflects a spiritual reckoning with limitations of human pursuits in comparison to the inexhaustible worth of divine love. Herbert moves through an intricate meditation on human achievement—learning, honour, and pleasure—before affirming God as the ultimate object of devotion. The poem’s intellectual rigor and devotional focus are balanced by its reflective tone, and its structure underscores a process of realization: worldly endeavours, no matter how noble, ultimately fall short of the divine.
In the opening stanza, Herbert addresses the realm of learning. He claims mastery over human knowledge, from the natural sciences to philosophy and history: ‘I know the ways of learning; both the head / And pipes that feed the press.’ The ‘pipes’ suggest the mechanisms of intellectual dissemination, as if Herbert were privy to the very systems through which knowledge flows. The inclusion of ‘the stars conspire’ and ‘what forced by fire’ indicates familiarity with celestial and terrestrial phenomena alike. Yet the stanza ends with a profound concession: ‘Yet I love thee.’ This refrain, repeated throughout the poem, highlights the insufficiency of learning when placed beside the love of God. Herbert’s knowledge, vast as it is, does not provide the fulfilment he finds in divine communion.
The second stanza shifts focus to the domain of honour and social accomplishment. Herbert demonstrates an acute understanding of the social exchanges and emotional investments that sustain relationships: ‘How many drams of spirit there must be / To sell my life unto my friends or foes.’ The metaphor of selling underscores the transactional nature of social honour, reducing even profound acts of loyalty or sacrifice to exchanges measured in ‘spirit’. While such honour can bind people together, Herbert’s speaker identifies a tension within it. Honour, he suggests, relies on external validation, which pales in comparison to the self-sufficiency of divine love. The refrain—’Yet I love thee’—places this love as the central guiding force, one that supersedes the fleeting affirmations of worldly recognition.
The third stanza confronts the allure of sensory pleasure. Herbert acknowledges the depth of human appetites: ‘The lullings and the relishes of it; / The propositions of hot blood and brains.’ Herbert’s tone here is not dismissive but almost confessional, reflecting the vividness of earthly pleasure. By admitting that ‘my stuff is flesh, not brass; my senses live’, Herbert emphasizes the tension between spiritual aspiration and physical reality. This stanza is particularly resonant in its treatment of human weakness; Herbert does not claim to transcend his bodily nature but rather admits its limitations. Yet even as the body tempts and challenges, the refrain—’Yet I love thee’—reaffirms Herbert’s choice to prioritize God over ephemeral joys.
The final stanza moves beyond enumeration to resolution. Here, Herbert portrays his devotion to God as an informed, deliberate act: ‘Not sealed, but with open eyes.’ Herbert rejects the idea of blind faith, presenting love for God as a conscious, reasoned decision. The metaphor of the labyrinth conveys the complexity of navigating life’s challenges, but the image of ‘thy silk twist let down from heaven’ transforms the labyrinth from a place of entrapment to a path of divine guidance. This imagery highlights the role of grace, which ‘conduct[s] and teach[es]’ Herbert, making possible the ascent to God.
The poem’s refrain—’Yet I love thee’—grounds Herbert’s reflections, providing a unifying thread that weaves through each exploration of human endeavour. This repetition signals an unshakable commitment to God, even as Herbert grapples with the temptations and distractions of worldly pursuits. The balance Herbert achieves between acknowledging human frailty and affirming divine sufficiency is one of the poem’s most striking qualities. It is not Herbert’s accomplishments, knowledge, or strength that bring him to God but rather the recognition of his dependence on divine grace. This dependence is not passive; it requires the active choice to ‘climb to thee.’
In Herbert’s portrayal, divine love is not an abstraction but a concrete presence that reshapes Herbert’s understanding of all other pursuits. Learning, honour, and pleasure are not dismissed as unworthy but are placed in their proper context—as incomplete without God.
The Archangel Gabriel is prominently featured in the New Testament of the Christian Bible. Gabriel’s first appearance is in the Gospel of Luke, where he appears to Zechariah to announce the birth of his son, John the Baptist. Zechariah questions the angel, and Gabriel responds with the famous words, ‘And the angel answering said unto him, I am Gabriel, that stand in the presence of God; and am sent to speak unto thee, and to shew thee these glad tidings.’ (Luke 1:19) [ … ]
It is astonishing to consider that, in all the clamour, in the midst of all the crowd of people, all begging for a piece of our Lord, there should be as it were a special cordon, a sacred space surrounding Lord Jesus, into which the clamour for attention does not pass, such that Jesus passes untouched through the chaos, inviolable – yet one poor woman has the faith to reach out and touch Lord Jesus [ … ]
In the Bible, a miracle is an event that is not explicable by natural or scientific laws and is therefore attributed to a divine agency. Miracles are often seen as a sign of the intervention of God in the affairs of human beings. In the Old Testament, the most famous miracles are the Ten Plagues of Egypt, in which God punished the Pharaoh for refusing to release the Israelites from slavery, and the parting of the Red Sea, in which God allowed the Israelites to escape from the pursuing Egyptians by opening a path through the sea. In the New Testament, the miracles of Jesus are a central part of his ministry and are seen as evidence of his divinity. These include healings, such as the restoration of sight to the blind and the raising of the dead, and acts of nature, such as turning water into wine and walking on water. Is There A Theological Significance To Jesus’ Miracles? In the Christian tradition, the miracles performed by Jesus are seen as a manifestation of his divinity and as proof of his authority to teach and heal. Many of these miracles are described in the Gospels of the New Testament, which are the primary source of information about the life and teachings of Jesus. The purpose of the miracles, according to the Gospels, was to demonstrate Jesus’ power over natural forces and to show that he had the authority to forgive sins and offer salvation to those who believed in him. Why Did Jesus Ask To Keep His Miracles Secret? ‘Tell No One Of This.’ In the Gospels, there are a few instances where Jesus tells people not to tell others about what he has done for them. For example, in the Gospel of Matthew, after Jesus healed a man who was possessed by demons, he told the man, ‘See that you tell no one anything, but go, show yourself to the priest and offer the gift that Moses commanded, as a proof to them’ (Matthew 8:4). In this case, it seems that Jesus was concerned that the man’s testimony might not be believed or might be misunderstood, and so he asked him to keep the experience to himself for the time being. It is difficult to say for sure why Jesus might have asked someone to keep quiet about a miracle without knowing the specific context in which the request was made. However, some possible reasons that come to mind include: To avoid drawing unnecessary attention to himself. In the Gospels, Jesus often tries to avoid drawing too much attention to himself, especially from the authorities who are hostile to him. Asking someone to keep quiet about a miracle might be one way of avoiding unwanted attention and allowing Jesus to continue his ministry without interference. To allow the person who was healed to experience the transformation for themselves. In some cases, the person who was healed might have been skeptical or unsure of what had happened to them. Asking them to keep quiet about the miracle might have given them time to reflect on the experience and come to their own understanding of it without being influenced by others. To test the person’s faith. In some cases, Jesus might have asked someone to keep quiet about a miracle as a test of their faith. If they were truly grateful for what Jesus had done for them, they would be willing to follow his instructions and trust that he had a good reason for asking them to keep quiet. These are just a few possible reasons why Jesus might have asked someone to keep quiet about a miracle. It is important to remember that the Gospels are ancient texts and that we must be careful not to impose our own interpretations on them without considering the historical and cultural context in which they were written. To avoid creating conflict or division. In the Gospels, Jesus often encounters people who are skeptical or hostile to his teachings, and he sometimes tries to avoid confrontations with them. Asking someone to keep quiet about a miracle might be one way of avoiding a confrontation or a heated debate that could disrupt his ministry. To avoid being misunderstood or misrepresented. In some cases, the person who was healed might not have understood the full significance of what Jesus had done for them, and they might have tried to explain it in a way that distorted or misrepresented the truth. Asking them to keep quiet might have given Jesus time to explain things to them more fully and help them to understand the true meaning of the miracle. To avoid becoming a spectacle. In the Gospels, there are many instances where people are amazed by the miracles that Jesus performs, and they often try to make him into a kind of celebrity or showman. Asking someone to keep quiet about a miracle might have been one way of avoiding this kind of attention and keeping the focus on the message that Jesus was trying to convey. What Is The Significance Of Miracle Of The Wedding At Cana? In the Christian tradition, the wedding at Cana is significant because it is the first of the miracles performed by Jesus that is recorded in the Gospels of the New Testament. This event is described in the Gospel of John, where it is said that Jesus, along with his mother Mary and his disciples, attended a wedding in the town of Cana. At the wedding, the host ran out of wine, and Mary asked Jesus to help. In response, Jesus turned water into wine, which is seen as a miraculous act that demonstrated his power and authority. In the Gospel of John, after Mary asks Jesus to help with the wine at the wedding in Cana, he replies, “Woman, what does this have to do with me? My hour has not yet come” (John 2:4). This statement is often seen as indicating that Jesus was aware […]
