George Herbert (1593–1633)

SWEET Peace, where dost thou dwell? I humbly crave,

Let me once know.

I sought thee in a secret cave;

And asked, 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 looked, 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 digged, I saw a worm devour

What showed so well.

At length I met a reverend, good old man;

Whom when for Peace

I did demand, he thus began:—

“There was a prince of old

At Salem dwelt, who lived with good increase

Of flock and fold.

“He sweetly lived; yet sweetness did not save

His life from foes.

But, after death, out of his grave

There sprang twelve stalks of wheat;

Which many wondering at, got some of those

To plant and set.

“It prospered 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 everywhere

With so much earnestness you do pursue,

Is only there.”