O my chief good,
How shall I measure out thy blood?
How shall I count what thee befell,
And each grief tell?
Shall I thy woes
Number according to thy foes?
Or, since one star show'd thy first breath,
Shall all thy death?
Or shall each leaf,
Which falls in Autumn, score a grief?
Or cannot leaves, but fruit, be sign
Of the true vine?
Then let each hour
Of my whole life one grief devour:
the passing things of this decaying autumnal world (including the “leaves” of Herbert’s book of poetry) can be signs of the true life and resurrection, though they are also the “fruit” of the true vine—it is from the life of Christ, the vine, that they receive life and can become signs also of his dying.