by Henry Vaughan
O JOYS! Infinite sweetness
! with what flowers
And shoots of glory, my soul breaks and buds !
All the long hours
Of night and rest,
Through the still shrouds
Of sleep, and clouds,
This dew fell on my breast ;
O how it bloods,
And spirits all my earth ! hark ! in what rings,
And hymning circulations the quick world
Awakes, and sings !
The rising winds,
And falling springs,
Birds, beasts, all things
Adore Him in their kinds.
Thus all is hurl'd
In sacred hymns and order ; the great chime
And symphony of Nature. Prayer is
The world in tune,
And vocal joys,
Whose echo is heaven's bliss.
O let me climb
When I lie down ! The pious soul by night
Is like a clouded star, whose beams, though said
To shed their light
Under some cloud,
Yet are above,
And shine and move
Beyond that misty shroud.
So in my bed,
That curtain'd grave, though sleep, like ashes, hide
My lamp and life, both shall in Thee abide.
Vaughan, Henry. The Poems of Henry Vaughan, Silurist. vol I.
E. K. Chambers, Ed. London, Lawrence & Bullen Ltd., 1896. 71-72.
||to Works of Henry Vaughan|
Site copyright ©1996-2000 Anniina Jokinen. All Rights Reserved.
Created by Anniina Jokinen on July 28, 1997. Last updated on October 16, 2000.
Background by the kind permission of Gini Schmitz.