Because I'm feel slightly jaded about the "I'm so thankful for" gushes that everyone is posting today, I thought I'd counter with a poem about sin. I'm thankful for a poet who can write about it.

Sinne

            George Herbert

Lord, with what care hast Thou begirt us round!

            Parents first season us; then schoolmasters

Deliver us to laws; they send us bound

To rules of reason, holy messengers,

Pulpits and Sundayes, sorrow dogging sinne,

            Afflictions sorted, anguish of all sizes,

Fine nets and stratagems to catch us in.

Bibles laid open, millions of surprises,

Blessings beforehand, tyes of gratefulnesse,

            The sound of glorie ringing in our eares:

Without, our shame; within, our consciences;

Angels and grace, eternall hopes and fears.

Yet all these fences and their whole array

One cunning bosome-sin blows quite away.