Memory, reason, and judgment forsake us as we age. George Herbert makes that point in a hard-to-decipher poem entitled “The Forerunners.” Here is one stanza:
The harbingers are come. See, see their mark;
white is their colour, and behold my head.
but must they have my brain? must they dispark,
Those sparkling notions, which therein were bred?
Must dullness turn me to a clod?
Yet have they left me, Thou art still my God.
Herbert found that age had addled his brain, clever thoughts eluded him and compromised his ability to think and to write. He laments: “Must they dispark (divest of the character of a lovely park), those sparkling notions, which therein (in his brain) were bred?” The “harbingers” had marked him and turned him into a clod.
In Herbert’s day travelers often sent forerunners ahead to find lodging. When the harbingers found a suitable inn or house they would mark the door with white chalk. Age now has marked Herbert’s hair white. Must aging and dullness strip him of his ability to write?
It’s a comforting thought to realize that no matter how much of my mind I lose, age cannot take God’s love and affection from me. Wisdom and artistry reside in one thought: “Thou art still my God.”
That’s all I need to remember.
David Roper
