A Thankful Heart
Robert Herrick
1591 to 1674
Track 1
Reconstruct the poem by dragging each line into its correct position. Your goal is to reassemble the original poem as accurately as possible. As you move the lines, you'll see whether your arrangement is correct, helping you explore the poem's flow and meaning. You can also print out the jumbled poem to cut up and reassemble in the classroom. Either way, take your time, enjoy the process, and discover how the poet's words come together to create something truly beautiful.
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Under the spars of which I lie
Both soft and dry;
The pulse is thine,
The while the conduits of my kine
That soils my land,
A little bin,
And giv'st me, for my bushel sown,
Besides, my healthful ewes to bear
My Christ, by Thee.
Her egg each day;
Some brittle sticks of thorn or briar
Make me a fire,
That I should render, for my part,
And all those other bits that be
Lord, I confess too, when I dine,
Is worn by th' poor,
Is weather proof;
Both void of state;
A little buttery, and therein
And kitchen's small;
Close by whose living coal I sit,
Of water-cress,
A little house, whose humble roof
Hast set a guard
Me twins each year;
Which keeps my little loaf of bread
There placed by thee;
—But the acceptance, that must be,
And my content
All these, and better, thou dost send
With guiltless mirth,
Which of thy kindness thou hast sent;
Thou mak'st my teeming hen to lay
Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep
Wherein to dwell;
Twice ten for one;
Lord, thou hast given me a cell,
Low is my porch, as is my fate;
Makes those, and my belovèd beet,
Run cream, for wine:
Where thou, my chamber for to ward,
The worts, the purslain, and the mess
A thankful heart;
As wholly thine;
And yet the threshold of my door
Which, fired with incense, I resign,
To be more sweet.
Good words, or meat.
Me, while I sleep.
And glow like it.
Who thither come, and freely get
Lord, 'tis thy plenty-dropping hand
Like as my parlour, so my hall
Unchipt, unflead;
'Tis thou that crown'st my glittering hearth
And giv'st me wassail bowls to drink,
Me, to this end,—
Spiced to the brink.