Take of English earth as much

 

As either hand may rightly clutch.

 

In the taking of it breathe

 

Prayer for all who lie beneath.

 

Not the great nor well-bespoke,

 

But the mere uncounted folk

 

Of whose life and death is none

 

Report or lamentation.

 

Lay that earth upon thy heart,

 

And thy sickness shall depart!

 

It shall sweeten and make whole

 

Fevered breath and festered soul.

 

It shall mightily restrain

 

Over-busied hand and brain,

 

It shall ease thy mortal strife

 

’Gainst the immortal woe of life,

 

Till thyself, restored, shall prove

 

By what grace the Heavens do move.

 

Take of English flowers these

 

Spring’s full-faced primroses,

 

Summer’s wild wide-hearted rose,

 

Autumn’s wall-flower of the close,

 

And, thy darkness to illume,

 

Winter’s bee-thronged ivy-bloom.

 

Seek and serve them where they bide

 

From Candlemas to Christmas-tide,

 

For these simples, used aright,

 

Can restore a failing sight.

 

These shall cleanse and purify

 

Webbed and inward-turning eye;

 

These shall show thee treasure hid

 

Thy familiar fields amid;

 

At thy threshold, on thy hearth,

 

Or about thy daily path;

 

And reveal (which is thy need)

 

Every man a King indeed!