Henry Vaughan

How rich,
O Lord
how fresh thy visits are
'Twas but just now my bleak leaves hopeless hung Sullied with dust and mud;

1
ME, 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

With what deep murmurs through time's silent
Doth thy transparent, cool, and wat'ry wealth Here flowing fall, And chide, and call,
As if his liquid, loose retinue
Ling'ring, and were of this steep place afraid; The common pass Where...

I walk'd the other day, to spend my hour, Into a field, Where I sometimes had seen the soil to yield A gallant flow'r; But winter now had ruffled all the bow'r And curious store I knew there heretofore
Yet I, whose search lov'd not to peep an...

My Soul, there is a country Afar beyond the stars, Where stands a winged sentry All skillful in the wars; There, above noise and danger Sweet Peace sits, crown'd with smiles, And One born in a manger Commands the beauteous files
He is thy gra...

Unfold
unfold
Take in His light, Who makes thy cares more short than night
The joys which with His day-star rise, He deals to all but drowsy eyes; And (what the men of this world miss) Some drops and dews of future bliss...

Weighing the steadfastness and
Of some mean things which here below reside,
Where birds like watchful clocks the noiseless
And intercourse of times divide;

Hail sacred shades
cool, leavy House
Chaste treasurer of all my vows,
And wealth

Whatever 'tis, whose beauty here below Attracts thee thus and makes thee stream and flow, And wind and curl, and wink and smile, Shifting thy gate and guile; Though thy close commerce nought at all imbars My present search, for eagles eye not star...

Sweet, harmless lives
(on whose holy leisure Waits innocence and pleasure),
Whose leaders to those pastures, and clear springs, Were patriarchs, saints, and kings,
How happened it that in the dead of night You only saw true light,...

False life, a foil and no more,
Wilt thou be gone
Thou foul deception of all
That would not have the true come on

So stick up ivy and the bays,
And then restore the heathen ways
Green will remind you of the spring,
Though this great day denies the thing