Silex scintillans, or, Sacred poems and priuate eiaculations by Henry Vaughan ...
About this Item
- Title
- Silex scintillans, or, Sacred poems and priuate eiaculations by Henry Vaughan ...
- Author
- Vaughan, Henry, 1622-1695.
- Publication
- London :: Printed by T.W. for H. Blunden ...,
- 1650.
- Rights/Permissions
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- Link to this Item
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http://name.umdl.umich.edu/A64747.0001.001
- Cite this Item
-
"Silex scintillans, or, Sacred poems and priuate eiaculations by Henry Vaughan ..." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A64747.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed June 15, 2024.
Pages
Page 100
Thus wretched I, and most unkind,
Exclude my dear God from my mind,
Exclude him thence, who of that Cel
Would make a Court, should he there dwel.
He goes, he yields; And troubled sore
His holy spirit grieves therefore,
The mighty God, th' eternal King
Doth grieve for Dust, and Dust doth sing.
But I go on, haste to Devest
My self of reason, till opprest
And buried in my surfeits I
Prove my own shame and miserie.
Next day I call and cry for thee
Who shouldst not then come neer to me,
But now it is thy servants pleasure
Thou must (and dost) give him his measure.
Thou dost, thou com'st, and in a showr
Of healing sweets thy self dost powr
Into my wounds, and now thy grace
(I know it wel,) fils all the place;
I sit with thee by this new light,
And for that hour th'art my delight,
No man can more the world despise
Or thy great mercies better prize.
I School my Eys, and strictly dwel
Within the Circle of my Cel
That Calm and silence are my Joys
Which to thy peace are but meer noise.
At length I feel my head to ake,
My fingers Itch, and burn to take
Some new Imployment, I begin
To swel and fome and fret within.
" The Age, the present times are not
" To snudge in, and embrace a Cot,
" Action and bloud now get the game,
" Disdein treads on the peaceful name,
Page 101
" who sits at home too bears a loade
" Greater than those that gad abroad.
Thus do I make thy gifts giv'n me
The only quarrellers with thee,
I'd loose those knots thy hands did tie,
Then would go travel, fight or die.
Thousands of wild and waste Infusions
Like waves beat on my resolutions,
As flames about their fuel run
And work, and wind til all be done,
So my fierce soul bustles about
And never rests til all be out.
Thus wilded by a peevish heart
Which in thy musick bears no part
I storm at thee, calling my peace
A Lethargy, and meer disease,
Nay, those bright beams shot from the eys
To calm me in these mutinies
I stile meer tempers, which take place
At some set times, but are thy grace.
Such is mans life, and such is mine
The worst of men, and yet stil thine,
Stil thine thou know'st, and if not so
Then give me over to my foe.
Yet since as easie 'tis for thee
To make man good, as bid him be,
And with one glaunce (could he that gain,)
To look him out of all his pain,
O send me from thy holy hil
So much of strength, as may fulfil
All thy delight (what e'r they be)
And sacred Institutes in me;
Open my rockie heart, and fil
It with obedience to thy wil,
Then seal it up, that as none see,
So none may enter there but thee.
Page 102
O hear my God! hear him, whose bloud
Speaks more and better for my good!
O let my Crie come to thy throne!
My crie not pour'd with tears alone,
(For tears alone are often foul)
But with the bloud of all my soul,
With spirit-sighs, and earnest grones,
Faithful and most repenting mones,
With these I crie, and crying pine
Till thou both mend and make me thine.