by George Herbert

Lord, how can man preach thy eternall word?
          He is a brittle crazie glasse:
Yet in thy temple thou dost him afford
          This glorious and transcendent place,
          To be a window, through thy grace.

But when thou dost anneal in glasse thy storie,
          Making thy life to shine within
The holy Preachers; then the light and glorie
          More rev'rend grows, & more doth win:
          Which else shows watrish, bleak, & thin.

Doctrine and life, colours and light, in one
          When they combine and mingle, bring
A strong regard and aw: but speech alone
          Doth vanish like a flaring thing,
          And in the eare, not conscience ring.

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