It glows and glitters in my cloudy brest
Like stars upon some gloomy grove,

Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest,
After the Sun's remove.

I see them walking in an Air of glory,

Whose light doth trample on my days:

My days, which are at best but dull and hoary,
Meer glimering and decays.

O holy hope! and high humility,

High as the Heavens above!

These are your walks, and you have shew'd them me
To kindle my cold love.

Dear, beauteous death! the Jewel of the Just,

Shining no where, but in the dark;

What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust;

Could man outlook that mark!

He that hath found some fledg'd birds nest, may know

At first sight, if the bird be flown;

But what fair Well, or Grove he sings in now,

That is to him unknown.

And yet, as Angels in some brighter dreams

Call to the soul, when man doth sleep:

So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted theams, And into glory peep.

If a star were confin'd into a Tomb

Her captive flames must needs burn there; But when the hand that lockt her up, gives room, She'l shine through all the sphære.

O Father of eternal life, and all

Created glories under thee!

Resume thy spirit. from this world of thrall

Into true liberty.

Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill
My perspective (still) as they pass,

Or else remove me hence unto that hill,

Where I shall need no glass.

S

Henry Vaughan.

As time one day by me did pass

He held, I chanc'd to look

And spyed his curious book
Of past days, where sad Heav'n did shed
A mourning light upon the dead.

Many disordered lives I saw

And foul records which thaw
My kinde eyes still, but in

A fair, white page of thin

And ev❜n, smooth lines, like the Suns
Thy name was writ, and all thy days.

rays,

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O bright and happy Kalendar!
Where youth shines like a star

All pearl'd with tears, and may
Teach age, The Holy way;

Where through thick pangs, high agonies
Faith into life breaks, and death dies.

As some meek night-piece which day quails,
To candle-light unveils :

So by one beamy line

From thy bright lamp did shine,

In the same page thy humble grave

Set with green herbs, glad hopes and brave.

Here slept my thoughts dear mark! which dust
Seem'd to devour, like rust;

But dust (I did observe)

By hiding doth preserve,

As we for long and sure recruits,
Candy with sugar our choice fruits.

O calm and sacred bed where lies
In deaths dark mysteries

A beauty far more bright

Then the noons cloudless light
For whose dry dust green branches bud
And robes are bleach'd in the Lambs blood.

Sleep happy ashes! (blessed sleep!)

While haplesse I still weep;

Weep that I have out-liv'd

My life, and unreliev'd

Must (soul-lesse shadow!) so live on,

Though life be dead, and my joys gone.

Henry Vaughan.

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The dwelling-place

S. John, chap. I. ver. 38, 39.

Hat happy, secret fountain,

Fair shade, or mountain,

Whose undiscover'd virgin glory
Boasts it this day, though not in story,
Was then thy dwelling? did some cloud
Fix'd to a Tent, descend and shrowd
My distrest Lord? or did a star
Becken'd by thee, though high and far,
In sparkling smiles haste gladly down
To lodge light, and increase her own?
My dear, dear God! I do not know
What lodged thee then, nor where, nor how;
But I am sure, thou dost now come
Oft to a narrow, homely room,
Where thou too hast but the least

My God, I mean my sinful heart.

The Night.

John 2. 3.

part,

Henry Vaughan.

Hrough that pure Virgin-shrine,

TH

That sacred vail drawn o'r thy glorious noon That men might look and live as Glo-worms shine,

And face the Moon:

Wise Nicodemus saw such light

As made him know his God by night.

ΙΟ

Most blest believer he!

Who in that land of darkness and blinde eyes
Thy long expected healing wings could see,
When thou didst rise,

And what can never more be done,

Did at mid-night speak with the Sun!

O who will tell me, where

He found thee at that dead and silent hour!
What hallow'd solitary ground did bear
So rare a flower,

Within whose sacred leafs did lie
The fulness of the Deity.

No mercy-seat of gold,

No dead and dusty Cherub, nor carv'd stone,
But his own living works did my Lord hold
And lodge alone;

Where trees and herbs did watch and peep
And wonder, while the Jews did sleep.

Dear night! this worlds defeat;

The stop to busie fools; cares check and curb;
The day of Spirits; my souls calm retreat

Which none disturb!

Christs progress, and his prayer

time;

The hours to which high Heaven doth chime.

Gods silent, searching flight:

When my

Lords head is fill'd with dew, and all

His locks are wet with the clear drops of night;

His still, soft call;

His knocking time; The souls dumb watch.
When Spirits their fair kinred catch.

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