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

Dressing.

O Thou that lovest a pure, and whitend soul! That feedst among the Lillies, 'till the day Break, and the shadows flee▪ touch with one Coal My frozen heart; and with thy secret key

Open my desolate rooms; my gloomie Brest With thy cleer fire refine, burning to dust These dark Confusions, that within me nest, And soyl thy Temple with a sinful rust.

Thou holy, harmless, undefil'd high-priest! The perfect, ful oblation for all sin, Whose glorious conquest nothing can resist, But even in babes doest triumph still and win;

Give to thy wretched one Thy mysticall Communion, That, absent, he may see, Live, die, and rise with thee; Let him so follow here, that in the end He may take thee, as thou doest him intend.

Give him thy private seal, Earnest, and sign; Thy gifts so deal That these forerunners here May make the future cleer; Whatever thou dost bid, let faith make good, Bread for thy body, and Wine for thy blood. Give him (with pitty) love, Two flowres that grew with thee above; Love that shal not admit Anger for one short fit, And pitty of such a divine extent That may thy members, more than mine, resent.

Give me, my God! thy grace, The beams, and brightnes of thy face, That never like a beast I take thy sacred feast, Or the dread mysteries of thy blest bloud Use, with like Custome, as my Kitchin food▪ Some sit to thee, and eat Thy body as their Common meat, O let not me do so! Poor dust should ly still low, Then kneel my soul, and body; kneel, and bow; If Saints, and Angels fal down, much more thou.