Manna.

That manna, which God on His people cast,
Fitted itself to ev'ry feeder's taste.

Robert Herrick

Robert Herrick was a 17th-century English lyric poet and cleric. He is known for his book of poems, "Hesperides," which includes the carpe diem poem "To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time." His works are noted for their clarity, simplicity, and musical quality. Herrick was also a vicar of Dean Prior in Devon, despite being ejected during the English Civil War and later reinstated.

Robert Herrick

Short And Long Both Likes.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Adversity.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Tears.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

To His Honoured Friend, M. John Weare, Councillor.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Honeycomb.

If thou hast found an honeycomb,
Eat thou not all, but taste on some:
For if thou eat'st it to excess,
That sweetness turns to loathsomeness.
Taste it to temper, then 'twill be
Marrow and manna unto thee.

Robert Herrick

To God.

God gives not only corn for need,
But likewise sup'rabundant seed;
Bread for our service, bread for show,
Meat for our meals, and fragments too:
He gives not poorly, taking some
Between the finger and the thumb;
But for our glut and for our store,
Fine flour press'd down, and running o'er.

Robert Herrick

The Poor's Portion.

The sup'rabundance of my store,
That is the portion of the poor:
Wheat, barley, rye, or oats; what is't
But He takes toll of? all the grist.
Two raiments have I: Christ then makes
This law; that He and I part stakes.
Or have I two loaves, then I use
The poor to cut, and I to choose.

Robert Herrick

To My Dearest Sister, M. Mercy Herrick.

Whene'er I go, or whatsoe'er befalls
Me in mine age, or foreign funerals,
This blessing I will leave thee, ere I go:
Prosper thy basket and therein thy dough.
Feed on the paste of filberts, or else knead
And bake the flour of amber for thy bread.
Balm may thy trees drop, and thy springs run oil,
And everlasting harvest crown thy soil!
These I but wish for; but thyself shall see
The blessing fall in mellow times on thee.

Robert Herrick

His Dream.

I dreamt, last night, Thou didst transfuse
Oil from Thy jar into my cruse;
And pouring still Thy wealthy store,
The vessel full did then run o'er;
Methought I did Thy bounty chide
To see the waste; but 'twas replied
By Thee, dear God, God gives man seed
Ofttimes for waste, as for his need.
Then I could say that house is bare
That has not bread and some to spare.

Robert Herrick

God's Bounty.

God's bounty, that ebbs less and less
As men do wane in thankfulness.

Robert Herrick