Henry Vaughan - Silex scintillans (1650)

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They are all gone into the world of light!
And I alone sit lingering here;
Their very memory is fair and bright,
And my sad thoughts doth clear.

Henry Vaughan
Mornings are mysteries; the first world's youth,
Man's resurrection, and the future's bud
Shroud in their births.

Henry Vaughan
Tempests and windes and winter-nights
Vex not, that but One sees thee grow,
That One made all these lesser lights.
If those bright joys He singly sheds
On thee, were all met in one crown,
Both sun and stars would hide their heads ;
And moons, though full, would get them down.

Henry Vaughan
Man is the shuttle, to whose winding quest
And passage through these looms
God ordered motion, but ordained no rest.

Henry Vaughan
I saw Eternity the other night
Like a great ring of pure and endless light.
All calm, as it was bright;
And round beneath it, Time in hours, days, years,
Driv'n by the spheres
Like a vast shadow moved; in which the world
And all her train were hurled.

Henry Vaughan
Dear Night! this world's defeat;
The stop to busy fools; care's check and curb;
The day of spirits; my soul's calm retreat
Which none disturb!
Christ's progress, and His prayer-time;
The hours to which high Heaven doth chime.

Henry Vaughan
Then bless thy secret growth, nor catch
At noise, but thrive unseen and dumb;
Keep clean, be as fruit, earn life, and watch
Till the white-wing'd reapers come!

Henry Vaughan
Wise Nicodemus saw such light
As made him know his God by night.

Henry Vaughan
Why should I not love childhood still?
Why, if I see a rock or shelf,
Shall I from thence cast down myself?
Or by complying with the world,
From the same precipice be hurled?
Those observations are but foul,
Which make me wise to lose my soul. And yet the practice worldlings call
Business, and weighty action all,
Checking the poor child for his play,
But gravely cast themselves away.

Henry Vaughan
Prayer is
The world in tune,
A spirit-voice,
And vocal joys,
Whose echo is heaven's bliss.
O let me climb When I lie down!

Henry Vaughan
Some men a forward motion love,
But I by backward steps would move,
And when this dust falls to the urn,
In that state I came, return.

Henry Vaughan
As great a store
Have we of books as bees of herbs or more.

Henry Vaughan
Early, as well as late,
Rise with the sun, and set in the same bowers

Henry Vaughan
Affliction is a mother,
Whose painful throes yield many sons,
Each fairer than the other.

Henry Vaughan
Prayer is The world in tune, A spirit-voyce, And vocall joyes, Whose Eccho is heaven's blisse.

Henry Vaughan
I played with fire, did counsel spurn, Made life my common stake; But never thought that fire would burn, O that a soul could ache.

Henry Vaughan
Yet never sleep the sun up. Prayer shou'd
Dawn with the day. There are set, awful hours
'Twixt heaven and us. The manna was not good
After sun-rising; far day sullies flowres.
Rise to prevent the sun; sleep doth sin glut,
And heaven's gate opens when the world's is shut.

Henry Vaughan
The skin and shell of things Though fair are not Thy wish nor prayer but got My meer despair of wings.

Henry Vaughan
If a star were confined into a tomb
Her captive flames must needs burn there;
But when the hand that locked her up gives room,
She'll shine through all the sphere.

Henry Vaughan
I see them walking in an air of glory
Whose light doth trample on my days,
My days, which are at best but dull and hoary,
Mere glimmering and decays.

Henry Vaughan
I will on thee as on a comet look,
A comet, the sad world's ill-boding book;
Thy light as luctual and stain'd with woes
I'll judge, where penal flames sit mixt and close.
But though some think thou shin'st but to restrain
Bold storms, and simply dost attend on rain;
Yet I know well, and so our sins require,
Thou dost but court cold rain, till rain turns fire.

Henry Vaughan
My soul, there is a country
Far beyond the stars
Where stands a wingèd sentry
All skillful in the wars:
There, above noise and danger,
Sweet Peace is crowned with smiles,
And One born in a manger
Commands the beauteous files.

Henry Vaughan
Holy writing must strive (by all means) for perfection and true holiness, that a door may be opened to him in heaven.

Henry Vaughan
When thou dost shine, darkness looks white and fair,
Forms turn to musick, clouds to smiles and air;
Rain gently spends his honey-drops, and pours
Balm on the cleft earth, milk on grass and flowers.
Bright pledge of peace and sun-shine! the sure tye
Of thy Lord's hand, the object of his eye.
When I behold thee, though my light be dim,
Distant, and low, I can in thine see Him
Who looks upon thee from his glorious throne,
And mindes the covenant 'twixt all and One.

Henry Vaughan
Happy those early days, when I
Shined in my angel-infancy.
Before I understood this place
Appointed for my second race,
Or taught my soul to fancy aught
But a white, celestial thought.

Henry Vaughan
Dear, harmless age! the short, swift span
Where weeping Virtue parts with man;
Where love without lust dwells, and bends
What way we please without self-ends. An age of mysteries! which he
Must live that would God's face see
Which angels guard, and with it play,
Angels! which foul men drive away.

Henry Vaughan
O joys! Infinite sweetness! with what flowers And shoots of glory, my soul breaks, and buds!

Henry Vaughan
When yet I had not walk'd above
A mile or two from my first Love,
And looking back, at that short space
Could see a glimpse of His bright face;
When on some gilded cloud or flower
My gazing soul would dwell an hour,
And in those weaker glories spy
Some shadows of eternity;
Before I taught my tongue to wound
My conscience with a sinful sound,
Or had the black art to dispense
A several sin to every sense,
But felt through all this fleshly dress
Bright shoots of everlastingness.

Henry Vaughan
There is in God — some say —
A deep, but dazzling darkness; as men here
Say it is late and dusky, because they
See not all clear.
O for that Night! where I in Him
Might live invisible and dim!

Henry Vaughan
And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams
Call to the soul when man doth sleep,
So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes,
And into glory peep.

Henry Vaughan