Not in rich furniture, or fine array, <br />Nor in a wedge of gold, <br />Thou, who from me wast sold, <br />To me dost now thy self convey; <br />For so thou should'st without me still have been, <br />Leaving within me sin: <br /> <br />But by the way of nourishment and strength <br />Thou creep'st into my breast; <br />Making thy way my rest, <br />And thy small quantities my length; <br />Which spread their forces into every part, <br />Meeting sin's force and art. <br /> <br />Yet can these not get over to my soul, <br />Leaping the wall that parts <br />Our souls, and fleshly hearts; <br />But as th'outworks, they may control <br />My rebel-flesh, and carrying thy name, <br />Affright both sin and shame. <br /> <br />Only thy grace, which with these elements comes, <br />Knoweth the ready way, <br />And hath the privy key, <br />Op'ning the soul's most subtle rooms; <br />While those to spirits refin'd, at door attend <br />Dispatches from their friend. <br /> <br />Give me my captive soul, or take <br />My body also thither, <br />Another lift like this will make <br />Them both to be together. <br /> <br />Before that sin turn'd flesh into stone, <br />And all our lump to leaven, <br />A fervent sigh might well have blown <br />Our innocent earth to heaven. <br /> <br />For sure when Adam did not know <br />To sin, or sin to smother; <br />He might to heav'n from Paradise go, <br />As from one room t'another. <br /> <br />Thou hast restor'd to us this ease <br />By this thy heav'nly blood; <br />Which I can go to, when I please, <br />And leave th'earth to their food.<br /><br />George Herbert<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-h-communion/