Were all my loud, evil days Whose peace but by some Angels wing or voice Is seldom rent; Then I in Heaven all the long year Would keep, and never wander here. But living where the Sun Doth all things wake, and where all mix and tyre To ev'ry myre, And by this worlds ill-guiding light, Erre more then I can do by night. There is in God (some say) A deep, but dazzling darkness; As men here See not all clear; O for that night! where I in him Might live invisible and dim. Henry Vaughan. The Water-fall. Ith what deep murmurs through times silent stealth Here flowing fall, And chide, and call, As if his liquid, loose Retinue staid Lingring, and were of this steep place afraid, The common pass Where, clear as glass, 40 50 All must descend Not to an end: But quickned by this deep and rocky grave, Dear stream! dear bank, where often I O useful Element and clear! My sacred wash and cleanser here, My first consigner unto those Fountains of life, where the Lamb goes? What sublime truths, and wholesome themes, Such as dull man can never finde Unless that Spirit lead his minde, In streaming rings restagnates all, my invisible estate, My glorious liberty, still late! Thou art the Channel my soul seeks, Not this with Cataracts and Creeks. Henry Vaughan. ΙΟ 20 30 40 Quickness. Alse life! a foil and no more, when FA Wilt thou be gone? Thou foul deception of all men That would not have the true come on. Thou art a Moon-like toil; a blinde A dark contest of waves and winde; Life is a fix'd, discerning light, A knowing Joy; No chance, or fit: but ever bright, 'Tis such a blissful thing, that still Doth vivifie, And shine and smile, and hath the skill Thou art a toylsom Mole, or less, A moving mist; But life is, what none can express, Henry Vaughan. 10 20 Н A Pastorall Hymne. Appy Choristers of Aire, HAPPY by your nimble flight draw neare Who by your His throne, whose wondrous story And unconfined glory Your notes still Caroll, whom your sound Yet do the lazy Snailes no lesse The greatnesse of our Lord confesse, And those whom weight hath chain'd And to the Earth restrain'd, Their ruder voices do as well, Yea and the speechlesse Fishes tell. Great Lord, from whom each Tree receaves, Then paies againe as rent, his leaves; Thou dost in purple set The Rose and Violet, And giv'st the sickly Lilly white, Yet in them all, thy name dost write. John Hall. And she washed his Feet with her Teares, and ΙΟ He proud Egyptian Queen, her Roman Guest, Both Food, and Treasure. And now (dear Lord!) thy Lover, on the fair Pearl in her Tears, and in her Hair, Offers thee Gold. Edward Sherburne. 10 The Christians reply to the Phylosopher. He Good in Graves as Heavenly Seed are sown ; TH And at the Saints first Spring, the General Doome, Will rise, not by degrees, but fully blowne; When all the Angells to their Harvest come. Cannot Almighty Heaven (since Flowers which pass Thaw'd through a Still, and there melt mingled too, Are rais'd distinct in a poore Chymists Glass) Doe more in Graves then Men in Lymbecks doe? God bred the Arts to make us more believe (By seeking Natures cover'd Misteries) O Coward Faith! Religion's trembling Guide! Causes remote, which Faith's dark dangers be. God has enough to humane kinde disclos'd; But, if he could have made his vertue less, He had been more familiar to their Eyes. |