Silex Scintillans sacred poems and private ejaculations. The second Edition, In two Books; By Henry Vaughan, Silurist |
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The Bird. |
 | Silex Scintillans |  |
21
The Bird.
Hither thou com'st: the busie wind all night
Blew through thy lodging, where thy own warm wing
Thy pillow was. Many a sullen storm
(For which course man seems much the fitter born,)
Rain'd on thy bed
And harmless head.
Blew through thy lodging, where thy own warm wing
Thy pillow was. Many a sullen storm
(For which course man seems much the fitter born,)
Rain'd on thy bed
And harmless head.
And now as fresh and chearful as the light
Thy little heart in early hymns doth sing
Unto that Providence, whose unseen arm
Curb'd them, and cloath'd thee well and warm.
All things that be, praise him; and had
Their lesson taught them, when first made.
Thy little heart in early hymns doth sing
Unto that Providence, whose unseen arm
Curb'd them, and cloath'd thee well and warm.
All things that be, praise him; and had
Their lesson taught them, when first made.
So hills and valleys into singing break,
And though poor stones have neither speech nor tongue
While active winds and streams both run and speak,
Yet stones are deep in admiration.
Thus Praise and Prayer here beneath the Sun
Make lesser mornings, when the great are done.
And though poor stones have neither speech nor tongue
While active winds and streams both run and speak,
Yet stones are deep in admiration.
Thus Praise and Prayer here beneath the Sun
Make lesser mornings, when the great are done.
For each inclosed Spirit is a star
Inlightning his own little sphære,
Whose light, though fetcht and borrowed from far,
Both mornings makes, and evenings there.
Inlightning his own little sphære,
Whose light, though fetcht and borrowed from far,
Both mornings makes, and evenings there.
but as these Birds of light make a land glad,
Chirping their solemn Matins on each tree:
So in the shades of night some dark fowls be,
Whose heavy notes make all that hear them, sad.
Chirping their solemn Matins on each tree:
So in the shades of night some dark fowls be,
Whose heavy notes make all that hear them, sad.
22
The Turtle then in Palm-trees mourns,
While Owls and Satyrs howl;
The pleasant Land to brimstone turns
And all her streams grow foul.
While Owls and Satyrs howl;
The pleasant Land to brimstone turns
And all her streams grow foul.
Brightness and mirth, and love and faith, all flye,
Till the Day-spring breaks forth again from high.
Till the Day-spring breaks forth again from high.
| Silex Scintillans | |