The Poetry Corner

To Christ.

By Robert Herrick

I crawl, I creep; my Christ, I come To Thee for curing balsamum: Thou hast, nay more, Thou art the tree Affording salve of sovereignty. My mouth I'll lay unto Thy wound Bleeding, that no blood touch the ground: For, rather than one drop shall fall To waste, my JESU, I'll take all.