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

Repentance.

LOrd, since thou didst in this vile Clay That sacred Ray Thy spirit plant, quickning the whole With that one grains Infused wealth, My forward flest creept on, and subtly stole Both growth, and power; Checking the health And heat of thine: That little gate And narrow way, by which to thee The Passage is, He term'd a grate And Entrance to Captivitie; Thy laws but nets, where some small birds (And those but seldome too) were caught, Thy Promises but empty words Which none but Children heard, or taught. This I believed: And though a friend Came oft from far, and whisper'd, No; Yet that not sorting to my end I wholy listen'd to my foe. Wherefore, pierc'd through with grief, my sad Seduced soul sighs up to thee, To thee who with true light art Clad And seest all things just as they be. Look from thy throne upon this Rowl Of heavy sins, my high transgressions, Which I Confesse withall my soul, My God, Accept of my Confession. It was last day (Touch'd with the guilt of my own way) I sate alone, and taking up The bitter Cup, Through all thy fair, and various store Sought out what might outvie my score. The blades of grasse, thy Creatures feeding, The trees, their leafs; the flowres, their seeding;

The Dust, of which I am a part, The Stones much softer than my heart, The drops of rain, the sighs of wind, The Stars to which I am stark blind, The Dew thy herbs drink up by night, The beams they warm them at l'th' light, All that have signature or life, I summon'd to decide this strife, And lest I should lack for Arrears, A spring ran by, I told her tears, But when these came unto the scale, My sins alone outweigh'd them all. O my dear God! my life, my love! Most blessed lamb! and mildest dove! Forgive your penitent Offender, And no more his sins remember, Scatter these shades of death, and give Light to my soul, that it may live; Cut me not off for my transgressions, Wilful rebellions, and suppressions, But give them in those streams a part Whose spring is in my Saviours heart. Lord, I confesse the heynous score, And pray, I may do so no more, Though then all sinners I exceed O think on this; Thy Son did bleed; O call to mind his wounds, his woes, His Agony, and bloudy throws; Then look on all that thou hast made, And mark how they do fail, and fade, The heavens themselves, though fair and bright Are dark, and unclean in thy sight, How then, with thee, Can man be holy Who doest thine Angels charge with folly? O what am I, that I should breed Figs on a thorne, flowres on a weed! I am the gourd of sin, and sorrow Growing o'r night, and gone to morrow,

In all this Round of life and death Nothing's more vile than is my breath, Profanenes on my tongue doth rest, Defects, and darknes in my brest, Pollutions all my body wed, And even my soul to thee is dead, Only in him, on whom I feast, Both soul, and body are well drest, His pure perfection quits all score, And fills the Boxes of his poor; He is the Center of long life, and light, I am but finite, He is Infinite. O let thy Justice then in him Confine, And through his merits, make thy mercy mine!