Religion

Book III, 53: On Bread

by Francis Quarles 1592–1644

From Divine Fancies (1633), Book III

Religion

Take up that bit of Bread: And understand,
What 'tis thou holdest in thy carelesse hand:
Observe it with thy thoughts, and it will reade thee
An usefull Lecture, ev'n as well as feed thee;
We stirre our Lands, or give directions how;
But God must send a season for the Plough:
We sow our Seede; But sowe our seed in vaine,
If Heav'n deny the first, the later Raine;
Small proofe in Showrs, if heau'ns pleas'd hand shall cease
To blesse those showrs, nor crowne thē with encrease.
The tender Blades appeare, before thine eye,
But, uarefresht by heav'n, as soone they die:
The infant Eares shoot forth, and now begin
To corne: But God must hold his Mildewes in:
The Harvest's come: But Clouds conspire together
Hands cannot work, til heav'n shall clear the weather:
At length 'tis reap'd: Between the Barne and Furrow
How many Offices poore Man runs thorow!
Now God has done his part: The rest we share
To Man: His providence takes now the care:
No; yet it is not ours: The use alone,
Not bare possession makes the thing our owne:
Thy swelling Barnes have crownd thy full desire;
But heav'n, when Mows should sweat, can make them
I, but the Sheaves are thrasht, & the heap lies
In thy full Garnier. He that sent the Flyes fire;
To Pharees Court, can, with as great an ease,
Send thee more wastfull vermin if he please:
Perchance 'tis grounded, kneded: and what though?
Gods Curse is often temper'd with the Dough;
Beleeve't the fruits of all thy toyle, is mine,
Vntill they be enjoy'd, as much as thine:
But now t'has fed thee: Is thy soule at rest?
Perchance, thy stomack's dainty to digest.
No, if heav'ns following favour doe not last
From the first Furrow to the very Tast,
Thy labour's lost: The Bread of all thy travill,
Without that blessing, feeds no more then Gravill:
Now wastfull Man, thou mayst repose againe
That Modell of Gods Prov'dence and thy paine:
That bitt of Bread; And if thy Dog should fawne
Vpon thy lappe, let not so deare a Pawne
Of greater plenty be contemn'd and lost;
Remember how it came, and what it cost.

MLA

Quarles, Francis. “Book III, 53: On Bread.” Poetry Codex, poetrycodex.com/poem/quarles/255/.

Chicago

Quarles, Francis. “Book III, 53: On Bread.” Poetry Codex. https://poetrycodex.com/poem/quarles/255/.

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