 | Poetical works (1908) |  |
9
Thomas Nevyle. Most Heavenly.
As when the Captaine of the heavenly host,
Or else that glorious armie doth appeare
In waters drown'd, with surging billowes tost,
We know they are not, where we see they are;
We see them in the deepe, we see them moove,
We know they fixed are in heaven above:
So did the Sunne of righteousnesse come downe
Clowded in flesh, and seem'd be in the deepe:
So doe the many waters seeme to drowne
The starres his Saints, and they on earth to keepe,
And yet this Sunne from heaven never fell,
And yet these earthly starres in heaven dwell.
What if their soules be into prison cast
In earthly bodies? yet they long for heaven:
What if this wordly Sea they have not past?
Yet faine they would be brought into their haven.
They are not here, and yet we here them see,
For every man is there, where he would be.
Long may you wish, and yet long wish in vaine,
Hence to depart, and yet that wish obtaine.
Long may you here in heaven on earth remaine,
And yet a heaven in heaven hereafter gaine.
Go you to heaven, but yet O make no hast,
Go slowly slowly, but yet go at last.
Or else that glorious armie doth appeare
In waters drown'd, with surging billowes tost,
We know they are not, where we see they are;
We see them in the deepe, we see them moove,
We know they fixed are in heaven above:
So did the Sunne of righteousnesse come downe
Clowded in flesh, and seem'd be in the deepe:
So doe the many waters seeme to drowne
The starres his Saints, and they on earth to keepe,
And yet this Sunne from heaven never fell,
And yet these earthly starres in heaven dwell.
What if their soules be into prison cast
In earthly bodies? yet they long for heaven:
What if this wordly Sea they have not past?
Yet faine they would be brought into their haven.
They are not here, and yet we here them see,
For every man is there, where he would be.
Long may you wish, and yet long wish in vaine,
Hence to depart, and yet that wish obtaine.
Long may you here in heaven on earth remaine,
And yet a heaven in heaven hereafter gaine.
Go you to heaven, but yet O make no hast,
Go slowly slowly, but yet go at last.
But when the Nightingale so neere doth sit,
Silence the Titmouse better may befit.
Silence the Titmouse better may befit.
F. Nethersole.
| Poetical works (1908) | |