The Washington Times

EDITORIAL: A Thanksgiving to God, for His House

A poem by Robert Herrick, 1648

continued from page 1

Good words, or meat.

Like as my parlour, so my hall

And kitchen’s small;

A little buttery, and therein

A little bin,

Which keeps my little loaf of bread

Unchipp’d, unflead;

Some brittle sticks of thorn or briar

Make me a fire,

Close by whose living coal I sit,

And glow like it.

Lord, I confess too, when I dine,

The pulse is Thine,

And all those other bits, that be

There plac’d by Thee;

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