Poem by Ralph Knevet

Today’s poem is from Ralph Knevet. Reading “through” a one year book of poetry. Today’s poem seem very fitting and timely. I view this poem as the current process. Many different point can be made, yet sometimes good to just ponder.

Who is Ralph Knevet?: Ralph Knevet was an English clergyman and poet. He was admitted at Peterhouse, Cambridge on 13 September 1617 aged 16 and was awarded LLB in 1624.


Contrition

My heart is broke (oh my God)
Break me not like a potters vessel,
Bruise me not with an iron rod,
But form me by thy holy chisel,
That I a statue may become,
Fit to adorn thy heavenly room.

The fig tree yields a fruit that’s sweet,
Yet is unprofitable wood;
For sculptor’s art it is unmeet,
And neither serves for saint, or rood*:
For Vulcan’s use it is unfit,
His bellows do no good on it.

But I that wretched tree am, which
The hunger of my Christ deceives,
He fruit expects, but I am rich
In nothing but vain spreading leaves,
Nor am I wood so fit, and apt
That of me can a saint be shaped.

Yea, I am that same fig tree vain,
Which in Christ’s vineyard planted was,
Dressed many years with care, and pain,
Yet only serve to fill a place:
I therefore fear the axes wound,
Because I cumber but the ground.

(Lord) in me repair (by thy grace)
The image Thou didst first create:
Though Adams sin did it deface,
Yet Mine, did it more vitiate:
Vouchsafe t’amend it with thy hand,
Then in thy gallery it may stand.

Ralph Knevet (1601-1671)


But He was pierced through for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities; the chastening for our well-being fell upon Him, And by His scourging we are healed.[Isa 53:5 NASB]

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