Silex scintillans, or, Sacred poems and priuate eiaculations by Henry Vaughan ...

Distraction.

O Knit me, that am crumbled dust! the heape Is all dispers'd, and cheape; Give for a handfull, but a thought And it is bought; Hadst thou Made me a starre, a pearle, or a rain-bow, The beames I then had shot My light had lessend not, But now I find my selfe the lesse, the more I grow; The world Is full of voices; Man is call'd, and hurl'd By each, he answers all, Knows ev'ry note, and call, Hence, still Fresh dotage tempts, or old usurps his will. Yet, hadst thou clipt my wings, when Coffin'd in This quicken'd masse of sinne, And saved that light, which freely thou Didst then bestow, I feare I should have spurn'd, and said thou didst forbeare; Or that thy store was lesse, But now since thou didst blesse So much, I grieve, my God! that thou hast made me such. I grieve? O, yes! thou know'st I doe; Come, and releive And tam••, and keepe downe with thy light Dust that would rise, and dimme my sight, Lest left alone too long Amidst the noise, and throng, Oppressed I Striving to save the whole, by parcells dye.