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

The Call.

COme my heart! come my head In sighes, and teares! 'Tis now, since you have laine thus dead Some twenty years; Awake, awake, Some pitty take Upon your selves — Who never wake to grone, nor weepe, Shall be sentenc'd for their sleepe.

2.

Doe but see your sad estate, how many sands Have left us, while we careles sate With folded hands; What stock of nights, Of dayes, and yeares In silent flights Stole by our eares, How ill have we our selves bestow'd Whose suns are all set in a Cloud?

3.

Yet, come, and let's peruse them all; And as we passe, What sins on every minute fall Score on the glasse; Then weigh, and rate Their heavy State Untill The glasse with teares you fill; That done, we shalbe safe, and good, Those beasts were cleane, that chew'd the Cud.