Poems of Henry Vaughan, Silurist Part 36

You see what splendour through the s.p.a.cious aisle, As if the Church were glorified, doth smile.

The ivory-wrought beams seem to the sight Engraven, while the carv'd roof looks curl'd and bright.

On bra.s.s hoops to the upmost vaults we tie The hovering lamps, which nod and tremble by The yielding cords; fresh oil doth still repair The waving flames, vex'd with the fleeting air.

14. [PAULINUS. VERSUS APUD EPIST. x.x.xII. 17.]

The pains of Saints and Saints' rewards are twins, The sad cross, and the crown which the cross wins.

Here Christ, the Prince both of the cross and crown, Amongst fresh groves and lilies fully blown Stands, a white Lamb bearing the purple cross: White shows His pureness, red His blood's dear loss.

To ease His sorrows the chaste turtle sings, And fans Him, sweating blood, with her bright wings; While from a s.h.i.+ning cloud the Father eyes His Son's sad conflict with His enemies, And on His blessed head lets gently down Eternal glory made into a crown.

About Him stand two flocks of diff'ring notes, One of white sheep, and one of speckled goats; The first possess His right hand, and the last Stand on His left; the spotted goats are cast All into thick, deep shades, while from His right The white sheep pa.s.s into a whiter light.

15. [PAULINUS.]

Those sacred days by tedious Time delay'd, While the slow years' bright line about is laid, I patiently expect, though much distrest By busy longing and a love-sick breast.

I wish they may outs.h.i.+ne all other days; Or, when they come, so recompense delays As to outlast the summer hours' bright length; Or that fam'd day, when stopp'd by divine strength The sun did tire the world with his long light, Doubling men's labours, and adjourning night.

As the bright sky with stars, the field with flow'rs, The years with diff'ring seasons, months and hours, G.o.d hath distinguished and mark'd, so He With sacred feasts did ease and beautify The working days: because that mixture may Make men--loth to be holy ev'ry day-- After long labours, with a freer will, Adore their Maker, and keep mindful still Of holiness, by keeping holy days: For otherwise they would dislike the ways Of piety as too severe. To cast Old customs quite off, and from sin to fast Is a great work. To run which way we will, On plains is easy, not so up a hill.

Hence 'tis our good G.o.d--Who would all men bring Under the covert of His saving wing-- Appointed at set times His solemn feasts, That by mean services men might at least Take hold of Christ as by the hem, and steal Help from His lowest skirts, their souls to heal.

For the first step to heaven is to live well All our life long, and each day to excel In holiness; but since that tares are found In the best corn, and thistles will confound And p.r.i.c.k my heart with vain cares, I will strive To weed them out on feast-days, and so thrive By handfuls, 'till I may full life obtain, And not be swallow'd of eternal pain.

16. [PAULINUS (?). CARM. APP. I.]

Come, my true consort in my joys and care!

Let this uncertain and still wasting share Of our frail life be giv'n to G.o.d. You see How the swift days drive hence incessantly, And the frail, drooping world--though still thought gay[69]-- In secret, slow consumption wears away.

All that we have pa.s.s from us, and once past Return no more; like clouds, they seem to last, And so delude loose, greedy minds. But where Are now those trim deceits? to what dark sphere Are all those false fires sunk, which once so s.h.i.+n'd, They captivated souls, and rul'd mankind?

He that with fifty ploughs his lands did sow, Will scarce be trusted for two oxen now; His rich, loud coach, known to each crowded street, Is sold, and he quite tir'd walks on his feet.

Merchants that--like the sun--their voyage made From East to West, and by wholesale did trade, Are now turn'd sculler-men, or sadly sweat In a poor fisher's boat, with line and net.

Kingdoms and cities to a period tend; Earth nothing hath, but what must have an end; Mankind by plagues, distempers, dearth and war, Tortures and prisons, die both near and far; Fury and hate rage in each living breast, Princes with princes, States with States contest; An universal discord mads each land, Peace is quite lost, the last times are at hand.

But were these days from the Last Day secure, So that the world might for more years endure, Yet we--like hirelings--should our term expect, And on our day of death each day reflect.

For what--Therasia--doth it us avail That s.p.a.cious streams shall flow and never fail, That aged forests hie to tire the winds, And flow'rs each Spring return and keep their kinds!

Those still remain: but all our fathers died, And we ourselves but for few days abide.

This short time then was not giv'n us in vain, To whom Time dies, in which we dying gain, But that in time eternal life should be Our care, and endless rest our industry.

And yet this task, which the rebellious deem Too harsh, who G.o.d's mild laws for chains esteem, Suits with the meek and harmless heart so right That 'tis all ease, all comfort and delight.

"To love our G.o.d with all our strength and will; To covet nothing; to devise no ill Against our neighbours; to procure or do Nothing to others, which we would not to Our very selves; not to revenge our wrong; To be content with little, not to long For wealth and greatness; to despise or jeer No man, and if we be despised, to bear; To feed the hungry; to hold fast our crown; To take from others naught; to give our own,"

--These are His precepts: and--alas!--in these What is so hard, but faith can do with ease?

He that the holy prophets doth believe, And on G.o.d's words relies, words that still live And cannot die; that in his heart hath writ His Saviour's death and triumph, and doth yet With constant care, admitting no neglect, His second, dreadful coming still expect: To such a liver earthy things are dead, With Heav'n alone, and hopes of Heav'n, he's fed, He is no va.s.sal unto worldly trash, Nor that black knowledge which pretends to wash, But doth defile: a knowledge, by which men With studied care lose Paradise again.

Commands and t.i.tles, the vain world's device, With gold--the forward seed of sin and vice-- He never minds: his aim is far more high, And stoops to nothing lower than the sky.

Nor grief, nor pleasures breed him any pain, He nothing fears to lose, would nothing gain, Whatever hath not G.o.d, he doth detest, He lives to Christ, is dead to all the rest.

This Holy One sent hither from above A virgin brought forth, shadow'd by the Dove; His skin with stripes, with wicked hands His face And with foul spittle soil'd and beaten was; A crown of thorns His blessed head did wound.

Nails pierc'd His hands and feet, and He fast bound Stuck to the painful Cross, where hang'd till dead, With a cold spear His heart's dear blood was shed.

All this for man, for bad, ungrateful man, The true G.o.d suffer'd! not that suff'rings can Add to His glory aught, Who can receive Access from nothing, Whom none can bereave Of His all-fulness: but the blest design Of His sad death was to save me from mine: He dying bore my sins, and the third day His early rising rais'd me from the clay.

To such great mercies what shall I prefer, Or who from loving G.o.d shall me deter?

Burn me alive, with curious, skilful pain, Cut up and search each warm and breathing vein; When all is done, death brings a quick release, And the poor mangled body sleeps in peace.

Hale me to prisons, shut me up in bra.s.s, My still free soul from thence to G.o.d shall pa.s.s.

Banish or bind me, I can be nowhere A stranger, nor alone; my G.o.d is there.

I fear not famine; how can he be said To starve who feeds upon the Living Bread?

And yet this courage springs not from my store, Christ gave it me, Who can give much, much more I of myself can nothing dare or do, He bids me fight, and makes me conquer too.

If--like great Abr'ham--I should have command To leave my father's house and native land, I would with joy to unknown regions run, Bearing the banner of His blessed Son.

On worldly goods I will have no design, But use my own, as if mine were not mine; Wealth I'll not wonder at, nor greatness seek, But choose--though laugh'd at--to be poor and meek.

In woe and wealth I'll keep the same staid mind, Grief shall not break me, nor joys make me blind: My dearest Jesus I'll still praise, and He Shall with songs of deliv'rance compa.s.s me.

Then come, my faithful consort! join with me In this good fight, and my true helper be; Cheer me when sad, advise me when I stray, Let us be each the other's guide and stay; Be your lord's guardian: give joint aid and due, Help him when fall'n, rise, when he helpeth you, That so we may not only one flesh be, But in one spirit and one will agree.

FOOTNOTES:

[69] The original has _gry_.

From _Hermetical Physic_: translated from Henry Nollius (1655).

1. [HORACE. EPIST. I. 1, 14-5.]

Where'er my fancy calls, there I go still, Not sworn a slave to any master's will.

2. [INCERTI.]

There's need, betwixt his clothes, his bed and board, Of all that Earth and Sea and Air afford.

3. [INCERTI.]

With restless cares they waste the night and day, To compa.s.s great estates, and get the sway.

4. [JUVENAL. SATIRE XV. 160-164.]

Whenever did, I pray, One lion take another's life away?

Or in what forest did a wild boar by The tusks of his own fellow wounded die?

Tigers with tigers never have debate; And bears among themselves abstain from hate