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Poem by George Herbert
SWEET Peace, where dost thou dwell? I humbly crave, Let me once know. I sought thee in a secret cave, And ask'd, if Peace were there. A hollow wind did seem to answer, No: Go seek elsewhere. I did; and going did a rainbow note: Surely, thought I, This is the lace of Peace's coat: I will search out the matter. But while I lookt, the clouds immediately Did break and scatter. Then went I to a garden, and did spy A gallant flower, The crown Imperial: Sure, said I, Peace at the root must dwell. But when I digg'd, I saw a worm devour What show'd so well. At length I met a rev'rend good old man, Whom when for Peace I did demand; he thus began: There was a Prince of old At Salem dwelt, who liv'd with good increase Of flock and fold. He sweetly liv'd; yet sweetness did not save His life from foes. But after death out of his grave There sprang twelve stalks of wheat: Which many wondring at, got some of those To plant and set. It prosper'd strangely, and did soon disperse Through all the earth: For they that taste it do rehearse, That virtue lies therein, A secret virtue bringing peace and mirth By flight of sin. Take of this grain, which in my garden grows, And grows for you; Make bread of it: and that repose And Peace which ev'ry where With so much earnestness you do pursue, Is only there.
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