Paradise

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I BLESSE thee, Lord, because I G R O W
Among  thy  trees,  which  in  a  R O W
To  thee  both  fruit  and  order  O W.

What  open  force, or  hidden C H A R M
Can blast my fruit, or  bring  me H A R M
While  the  inclosure  is  thine  A R M?

Inclose  me  still  for  fear I S T A R T.
Be  to  me  rather  sharp and  T A R T,
Than let me want thy hand and A R T.

When thou dost greater judgements S P A R E,
And  with  thy  knife  but  prune  and  P A R E,
Ev'n  fruitful  trees  more  fruitfull  A R E.

Such sharpness shows the sweetest F R E N D:
Such  cuttings  rather  heal  than  R E N D:
And  such  beginnings  touch  their  E N D.

© George Herbert