A True Hymn

MY Joy, my Life, my Crown !
My heart was meaning all the day,
Somewhat it fain would say,
And still it runneth muttering up and down
With only this, My Joy, my Life, my Crown !

Yet slight not those few words ;
If truly said, they may take part
Among the best in art :
The fineness which a hymn or psalm affords
Is, when the soul unto the lines accord.

He who craves all the mind,
And all the soul, and strength, and time,
If the words only rhyme,
Justly complains that somewhat is behind
To make His verse, or write a hymn in kind.

Whereas if the heart be moved,
Although the verse be somewhat scant,
God doth supply the want ;
As when the heart says, sighing to be approved,
“O, could I love !” and stops, God writeth, “Loved.”

-George Herbert

Your Love

Your blood.
Are the tears that run down my face,
When I am completely lost and feel out of place.
Your arms.
Are the comfort that wraps around me,
When all I want to do is scream.
Your beauty.
Is the one thing that makes me beautiful,
When I swallow the lies the media pulls.
Your kindness.
Is how I don't lose sight of why I am living.
When I feel the pressure the world is giving.
Your love.
Is why I haven't died.
Is why instead I've cried.
Is the only thing that fills me up inside.
When I just want to hide.
-Becki Perez