Part 48 (1/2)

*Walton.

But he did not only preach, he practised too. I must tell you just one story to show you how he practiced. Herbert was very fond of music; he sang, and played too, upon the lute and viol.

One day as he was walking into Salisbury to play with some friends ”he saw a poor man with a poorer horse, which was fallen under his load. They were both in distress and needed present help. This Mr. Herbert perceiving put off his canonical coat, and helped the poor man to unload, and after to load his horse.

The poor man blest him for it, and he blest the poor man, and was so like the Good Samaritan that he gave him money to refresh both himself and his horse, and told him, that if he loved himself, he should be merciful to his beast. Thus he left the poor man.

”And at his coming to his musical friends at Salisbury, they began to wonder that Mr. George Herbert, which used to be so trim and clean, came into that company so soiled and discomposed. But he told them the occasion. And when one of the company told him, he had disparaged himself by so dirty an employment, his answer was: that the thought of what he had done would prove music to him at midnight, and the omission of it would have upbraided and made discord in his conscience whensoever he should pa.s.s by that place. 'For if I be bound to pray for all that be in distress, I am sure that I am bound, so far as it is in my power, to practice what I pray for. And though I do not wish for the like occasion every day, yet let me tell you, I would not willingly pa.s.s one day of my life without comforting a sad soul or shewing mercy.

And I praise G.o.d for this occasion.

”'And now let's tune our instruments.'”*

*Walton.

This story reminds us that besides being a parson Herbert was a courtier and a fine gentleman. His courtly friends were surprised that he should lower himself by helping a poor man with his own hands. But that is just one thing that we have to remember about Herbert, he had nothing of the puritan in him, he was a cavalier, a courtier, yet he showed the world that it was possible to be these and still be a good man. He did not believe that any honest work was a ”dirty employment.” In one of his poems he says:

”Teach me my G.o.d and King, In all things Thee to see, And what I do in anything To do it as for Thee.

”All may of Thee Partake: Nothing can be so mean Which with his tincture (for Thy sake) Will not grow bright and clean.

”A Servant with this clause Makes drudgery divine; Who sweeps a room as for Thy laws Makes that and th' action fine.

”This is the famous stone That turneth all to gold; For that which G.o.d doth touch and own Cannot for less be told.”*

*Counted.

I have told you the story about Herbert and the poor man in the words of Izaak Walton, the first writer of a life of George Herbert. I hope some day you will read that life and also the other books Walton wrote, for although we have not room for him in this book, his books are one of the delights of our literature which await you.

In all Herbert's work among his people, his wife was his companion and help, and the people loved her as much as they loved their parson. ”Love followed her,” says Walton, ”in all places as inseparably as shadows follow substances in suns.h.i.+ne.”

Besides living thus for his people Herbert almost rebuilt the church and rectory both of which he found very ruined. And when he had made an end of rebuilding he carved these words upon the chimney in the hall of the Rectory:

”If thou chance for to find A new house to thy mind, And built without thy cost; Be good to the poor, As G.o.d gives thee Store And then my labor's not lost.”

His life, one would think, was busy enough, and full enough, yet amid it all he found time to write. Besides many poems he wrote for his own guidance a book called The Country Parson. It is a book, says Walton, ”so full of plain, prudent, and useful rules that that country parson that can spare 12d. and yet wants it is scarce excusable.”

But Herbert's happy, useful days at Bemerton were all too short.

In 1632, before he had held his living three years, he died, and was buried by his sorrowing people beneath the altar of his own little church.

It was not until after his death that his poems were published.

On his death-bed he left the book in which he had written them to a friend. ”Desire him to read it,” he said, ”and if he can think it may turn to the advantage of any dejected poor soul, let it be made public. If not let him burn it.”

The book was published under the name of The Temple. All the poems are short except the first, called The Church Porch. From that I will quote a few lines. It begins:

”Thou whose sweet youth and early hopes enchance Thy rate and price, and mark thee for a treasure, Hearken unto a Verser, who may chance Ryme thee to good, and make a bait of pleasure.

A verse may find him who a sermon flies, And turn delight into a sacrifice.

”Lie not, but let thy heart be true to G.o.d, Thy mouth to it, thy actions to them both: Cowards tell lies, and those that fear the rod; The stormy-working soul spits lies and froth Dare to be true: nothing can need a lie; A fault which needs it most, grows two thereby.

”Art thou a magistrate? then be severe: If studious, copy fair what Time hath blurr'd, Redeem truth from his jaws: if soldier, Chase brave employment with a naked sword Throughout the world. Fool not; for all may have, If they dare try, a glorious life, or grave.