Henry More (1614–1687)

FAR have I clambered in my mind,

But nought so great as love I find:

Deep-searching wit, mount-moving might,

Are nought compared to that good sprite.

Life of delight, and soul of bliss!

Sure source of lasting happiness!

Higher than heaven! lower than hell!

What is thy tent? Where mayst thou dwell?

My mansion hight humility,

Heaven’s vastest capability.

The further it doth downward bend,

The higher up it doth ascend;

If it go down to utmost nought,

It shall return with what it sought.

Could I demolish with mine eye

Strong towers; stop the fleet stars in sky,

Bring down to earth the pale-faced moon,

Or turn black midnight to bright noon;

Though all things were put in my hand,—

As parched, as dry, as Libyan sand

Would be my life, if Charity

Were wanting. But Humility

Is more than my poor soul durst crave,

That lies entombed in lowly grave.

But if ’twere lawful up to send

My voice to heaven, this should it rend,

Lord, thrust me deeper into dust,

That thou mayst raise me with the just.