[태그:] Christ

“The Sacrifice” is a poignant poem by George Herbert that delves deep into the Passion of Christ, specifically focusing on the themes of suffering and crucifixion.

 

 

The poem portrays the harrowing experience of Christ, who bore the sins of humanity and was crucified on the cross. In this work, Herbert masterfully presents a dramatic monologue spoken by Christ Himself, offering a deep and introspective look into the spiritual and physical agony experienced during the crucifixion.

 

 

Through his vivid and emotive language, Herbert explores the profound sacrifice and redemptive suffering of Christ, making it a powerful meditation on faith and redemption.

 

 

George Herbert “The Sacrifice”

 

 

About the Author

George Herbert, a 17th-century English poet, is celebrated as a master of metaphysical poetry. His role as the Public Orator at Cambridge University helped perfect his rhetorical prowess. Herbert’s body of work, primarily showcased in his collection “The Temple”, focuses on the sacred rather than the secular, using his verse to glorify God.

 

 

The Sacrifice,

George Herbert

Oh all ye, who pass by, whose eyes and mind

To worldly things are sharp, but to me blind;

To me, who took eyes that I might you find:

Was ever grief like mine?

The Princes of my people make a head

Against their Maker: they do wish me dead,

Who cannot wish, except I give them bread:

Was ever grief like mine?

Without me each one, who doth now me brave,

Had to this day been an Egyptian slave.

They use that power against me, which I gave:

Was ever grief like mine?

Mine own Apostle, who the bag did beare,

Though he had all I had, did not forbeare

To sell me also, and to put me there:

Was ever grief, &c.

For thirtie pence he did my death devise,

Who at three hundred did the ointment prize,

Not half so sweet as my sweet sacrifice:

Was ever grief, &c.

Therefore my soul melts and my hearts deare tresure

Drops blood (the only beads) my words to measure:

O let this cup passe, if it be thy pleasure:

Was ever grief, &c.

These drops being temper’d with a sinners tears

A Balsome are for both the Hemispheres:

Curing all wounds, but mine; all, but my rears:

Was ever grief, &c.

Yet my Disciple sleep: I cannot gain

One hour of watching; but their drowsy brain

Comforts not me, and doth my doctrine stain:

Was ever grief, &c.

Arise, arise, they come. Look how they run!

Alas! what haste they make to be undone!

How with their lanterns do they seek the sun!

Was ever grief, &c.

With clubs and staves they seek me, as a thief,

Who am the Way and Truth, the true relief;

Most true to those, who are my greatest grief:

Was ever grief, &c.

Judas, dost thou betray me with a kiss?

Canst thou find hell about my lips? and misse

Of life, just at the gates of life and blisse?

Was ever grief like mine?

See, they lay hold on me, not with the hands

Of faith, but furie: yet at their commands

I suffer binding, who have loosed their bands:

Was ever grief, &c.

All my Disciples flee; fear puts a bar

between my friends and me. They leave the star,

that brought the wise men of the East from far.

Was ever grief, &c.

Then from one ruler to another bound

They lead me; urging, that it was not sound

What I taught: Comments would the text confound.

Was ever grief, &c.

The Priest and rulers all false witness seek

Against him, who seeks not life, but is the meek

And ready Paschal Lamb of this great week:

Was ever grief, &c.

The they accuse me of great blasphemy,

That I did thrust into the Deity,

Who never thought that any robbery:

Was ever grief, &c.

Some said, that I the Temple to the floor

In three days raz’d, and raised as before.

Why, he that built the world can do much more:

Was ever grief, &c.

Then they condemn me all with that same breath,

Which I do give them daily, unto death.

Thus Adam my first breathing rendereth:

Was ever grief, &c.

They bind, and lead me unto Herod: he

Sends me to Pilate. This make them agree;

But yet their friendship is my enmity:

Was ever grief like mine?

Herod and all his bands do set me light,

Who teach all hands to war, fingers to fight,

And onely am the Lord of Hosts and might:

Was ever grief, &c.

Herod in judgment sits, while I do stand;

Examines me with a censorious hand:

I him obey, who all things else command:

Was ever grief, &c.

The Fews accuse me with despitefulness;

And vying malice with my gentleness;

Pick quarrels with their onely happiness:

Was ever grief, &c.

I answer nothing, but with patience prove

If stony hearts will melt with gentle love.

But who does hawk at eagles with a dove?

Was ever grief, &c.

My silence rather doth augment their cry:

My dove doth back into my bosome fly,

Because the raging waters still are high:

Was ever grief, &c.

Hear how they cry aloud still, Crucify:

It is not fit he live a day, they cry,

Who cannot live less than eternally:

Was ever grief, &c.

Pilate, a stranger, hold off: but they,

Mine own dear people, cry, Away, away,

With noises confused frighting the day:

Was ever grief, &c.

Yet still they shout, and cry, and stop their ears,

Putting my life among their sins and fears,

And therefore wish my blood on them and theirs:

Was ever grief like mine?

See how spite cankers things. These words aright

Used, and wished, are the whole worlds light:

But hony is their gall, brightness their night:

Was ever grief, &c.

They choose a murderer, and all agree

In him to do themselves a courtesy:

For it was their own case who killed me:

Was ever grief, &c.

And a seditious murderer he was:

But I the Prince of peace; peace that doth pass

All understanding, more than heaven doth glass:

Was ever grief, &c.

Why, Caesar is their onely King, not I;

He clave the stony rock, when they were dry;

But surely not their hearts, as I will try:

Was ever grief, &c.

Ah! how they scourge me! yet my tenderness

Doubles each las: and yet their bitterness

Winds up my grief to a mysteriousness:

Was ever grief, &c.

They buffet him, and box him as they list,

Who grasps the earth and heaven with his fist,

And never het, whom he would punish, miss’d:

Was ever grief, &c.

Behold, they spit on me in scornfull wise,

Who by my spittle gave the blind man eyes,

Leaving his blindness to my enemies:

Was ever grief, &c.

My face they cover, though it be divine.

As Moses face was veiled, so is mine,

Lest on their double-dark souls either shine:

Was ever grief, &c.

Servants and objects flout me; they are witty:

Now prophesy who strikes thee, is their ditty.

So they in me deny themselves all pity:

Was ever grief, &c.

And now I am delivered unto death,

Which each one calls for so with utmost breath,

That he before me well nigh suffereth:

Was ever grief, &c.

Weep not, dear friends, since I for both have wept

When all my tears were blood, the while you slept:

Your tears for your own fortunes should be kept:

Was ever grief, &c.

The soldiers lead me to the Common Hall;

There they deride me, they abuse me all:

Yet for twelve heavenly legions I could call:

Was ever grief, &c.

Then with a scarlet robe they me aray;

Which shews my blood to be the onely way

And cordiall left to repair mans decay:

Was ever grief, &c.

Then on my head a crown of thorns I wear:

For these are all the grapes Sion doth bear,

Though I my vine planted and watred there:

Was ever grief, &c.

So sits the earths great curse in Adams fall

Upon my head: so I remove it all

From the earth unto my brows, and bear the thrall:

Was ever grief like mine?

Then with the reed they gave to me before,

They strike my head, the rock from whence all store

Of heavenly blessings issue evermore:

Was ever grief, &c.

They bow their knees to me, and cry, Hail King:

What ever scoffes & scornfulness can bring,

I am the floor, the sink, where they it fling:

Was ever grief, &c.

Yet since mans scepters are as frail as reeds,

And thorny all their crowns, bloody their weeds;

I, who am Truth, turn into truth their deeds:

Was ever grief, &c.

The soldiers also spit upon that face,

Which Angels did desire to have the grace,

And Prophets, once to see, but found no place:

Was ever grief, &c.

Thus trimmed, forth they bring me to the rout,

Who Crucify him, cry with one strong shout.

God holds his peace at man, and man cry out:

Was ever grief, &c.

They lead me in once more, and putting then

Mine own clothes on, they lead me out again.

Whom devils flie, thus is he tossed of men:

Was ever grief, &c.

And now wearie of spot, glad to ingrosse

All spite in one, counting my life their loss,

They carry me to my most bitter cross:

Was ever grief like mine?

My cross I bear my self, until I faint:

Then Simon bears it for me by constraint,

The decreed burden of each mortal Saint:

Was ever grief, &c.

O all ye who pass by, behold and see;

Man stole the fruit, but I must climb the tree;

The tree of life to all, but onely me:

Was ever grief, &c.

Lo, here I hang, charged with a world of sin,

The greater world of the two; for that came in

By words, but this by sorrow I must win:

Was ever grief, &c.

Such sorrow as, if sinful man could feel,

Or feel his part, he would not cease to kneel,

Till all were melted, though he were all steel:

Was ever grief, &c.

But, O my God, my God! Why leave thou me,

The son, in whom thou dost delight to be?

My God, my God –

Never was grief like mine.

Shame tears my soul, my body many a wound;

Sharp nails pierce this, but sharper that confound;

Reproches, which are free, while I am bound.

Was ever grief, &c.

Now heal thy self, Physician; now come down.

Alas! I did so, when I left my crown

And fathers smile for you, to feel his frown:

Was ever grief, &c.

In healing not my self, there doth consist

All that salvation, which ye now resist;

Your safety in my sickness doth subsist:

Was ever grief, &c.

Between two thieves I spend my utmost breath,

As he that for some robbery suffereth.

Alas! what have I stolen from you? Death.

Was ever grief, &c.

A king my title is, prefixt on high;

Yet by my subjects am condemned to die

A servile death in servile company:

Was ever grief, &c.

They give me vinegar mingled with gall,

But more with malice; yet, when they did call,

With Manna, Angels food, I fed them all:

Was ever grief, &c.

They part my garments, and by lot dispose

My coat, the type of love, which once cured those

Who sought for help, never malicious foes:

Was ever grief, &c.

Nay, after death their spite shall further go;

For they will pierce my side, I full well know;

That as sin came, so Sacraments might flow:

Was ever grief, &c.

But now I die; now all is finished.

My wo, mans weal: and now I bow my head.

Onely let others say, when I am dead,

Never was grief like mine.

 –George Herbert “The Sacrifice”-

 

 

 

 

 

 

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