Were all my loud, evil days Whose peace but by some Angels wing or voice 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 Say it is late and dusky, because they See not all clear; O for that night! where I in him Might live invisible and dim. Henry Vaughan. W The Water-fall. Ith what deep murmurs through times silent stealth deep murmurs through times Doth thy transparent, cool and watry wealth 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, Unless that Spirit lead his minde, O my invisible estate, My glorious liberty, still late! Thou art the Channel my soul seeks, Not this with Cataracts and Creeks. Henry Vaughan. 10 20 30 40 A Pastorall Hymne. Appy Choristers of Aire, out nimble draw neare His throne, whose wondrous story Your notes still Caroll, whom your sound Yet do the lazy Snailes no lesse 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 He The proud Egyptian Queen, her Roman Guest, THE ΤΟ (T'express her Love in Hight of State, and Pleasure) With Pearl dissolv'd in Gold, did feast, Both Food, and Treasure. And now (dear Lord!) thy Lover, on the fair And silver Tables of thy Feet, behold! Pearl in her Tears, and in her Hair, Offers thee Gold. Edward Sherburne. The Christians reply to the Phylosopher. He Good in Graves as Heavenly Seed are sown; THe 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? (By seeking Natures cover'd Misteries) God has enough to humane kinde disclos'd; Our fleshly Garments he a while receiv'd, And walk'd as if the Godhead were depos'd, Yet could be then but by a few believ❜d. The Faithless Jews will this at Doome confess, But, if he could have made his vertue less, He had been more familiar to their Eyes. ΙΟ 20 |