by Henry Vaughan

COME, my heart ! come, my head,
           In sighs, and tears !
'Tis now, since you have lain thus dead,
           Some twenty years ;
           Awake, awake,
           Some pity take
           Upon yourselves !
Who never wake to groan, nor weep,
Shall be sentenc'd for their sleep.

Do but see your sad estate,
           How many sands
Have left us, while we careless sate
           With folded hands ;
           What stock of nights,
           Of days, and years
           In silent flights
           Stole by our ears ;
How ill have we ourselves bestow'd,
Whose suns are all set in a cloud !

Yet come, and let's peruse them all,
           And as we pass,
What sins on every minute fall
           Score on the glass ;
           Then weigh, and rate
           Their heavy state,
        The glass with tears you fill ;
That done, we shall be safe and good :
Those beasts were clean that chew'd the cud.

Vaughan, Henry. The Poems of Henry Vaughan, Silurist. vol I.
E. K. Chambers, Ed. London, Lawrence & Bullen Ltd., 1896. 52-53.

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