Silex Scintillans sacred poems and private ejaculations. The second Edition, In two Books; By Henry Vaughan, Silurist |
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| II. |
Jacobs Pillow, and Pillar. |
 | Silex Scintillans |  |
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Jacobs Pillow, and Pillar.
I see the Temple in thy Pillar rear'd,
And that dread glory, which thy children fear'd;
In milde, clear visions, without a frown,
Unto thy solitary self is shown.
'Tis number makes a Schism: throngs are rude,
And God himself dyed by the multitude.
This made him put on clouds, and fire and smoke,
Hence he in thunder to thy Off spring spoke;
The small, still voice, at some low Cottage knocks,
But a strong wind must break thy lofty rocks.
And that dread glory, which thy children fear'd;
In milde, clear visions, without a frown,
Unto thy solitary self is shown.
'Tis number makes a Schism: throngs are rude,
And God himself dyed by the multitude.
This made him put on clouds, and fire and smoke,
Hence he in thunder to thy Off spring spoke;
The small, still voice, at some low Cottage knocks,
But a strong wind must break thy lofty rocks.
The first true worship of the worlds great King
From private and selected hearts did spring,
But he most willing to save all mankinde,
Inlarg'd that light, and to the bad was kinde.
Hence Catholick or Universal came
A most fair notion, but a very name
For this rich Pearl, like some more common stone,
When once made publique is esteem'd by none.
Man slights his Maker, when familiar grown,
And sets up laws, to pull his honor down.
This God foresaw: And when slain by the crowd
(Under that stately and mysterious cloud
Which his death scatter'd) he foretold the place,
And form to serve him in, should be true grace
And the meek heart, not in a Mount, nor at
Jerusalem, with blood of beasts, and fat.
A heart is that dread place, that awful Cell,
That secret Ark, where the milde Dove doth dwell
When the proud waters rage: when Heathens rule
By Gods permission, and man turns a Mule.
This litle Goshen, in the midst of night.
And Satans seat, in all her Coasts hath light,
Yea Bethel shall have Tithes (saith Israels stone)
And vows and visions, though her foes crye, None.
Thus is the solemn temple sunk agen
Into a Pillar, and conceal'd from men.
And glory be to his eternal Name!
Who is contented, that this holy flame
Shall lodge in such a narrow pit, till he
With his strong arm turns our captivity.
From private and selected hearts did spring,
But he most willing to save all mankinde,
Inlarg'd that light, and to the bad was kinde.
Hence Catholick or Universal came
A most fair notion, but a very name
For this rich Pearl, like some more common stone,
When once made publique is esteem'd by none.
Man slights his Maker, when familiar grown,
And sets up laws, to pull his honor down.
This God foresaw: And when slain by the crowd
(Under that stately and mysterious cloud
Which his death scatter'd) he foretold the place,
And form to serve him in, should be true grace
And the meek heart, not in a Mount, nor at
Jerusalem, with blood of beasts, and fat.
A heart is that dread place, that awful Cell,
That secret Ark, where the milde Dove doth dwell
When the proud waters rage: when Heathens rule
By Gods permission, and man turns a Mule.
63
And Satans seat, in all her Coasts hath light,
Yea Bethel shall have Tithes (saith Israels stone)
And vows and visions, though her foes crye, None.
Thus is the solemn temple sunk agen
Into a Pillar, and conceal'd from men.
And glory be to his eternal Name!
Who is contented, that this holy flame
Shall lodge in such a narrow pit, till he
With his strong arm turns our captivity.
But blessed Jacob, though thy sad distress
Was just the same with ours, and nothing less,
For thou a brother, and blood-thirsty too
Didst flye, whose children wrought thy childrens wo.
Yet thou in all thy solitude and grief,
On stones didst sleep and found'st but cold relief;
Thou from the Day-star a long way didst stand
And all that distance was Law and command.
But we a healing Sun by day and night,
Have our sure Guardian, and our leading light;
What thou didst hope for and believe, we finde
And feel a friend most ready, sure and kinde.
Thy pillow was but type and shade at best,
But we the substance have, and on him rest.
Was just the same with ours, and nothing less,
For thou a brother, and blood-thirsty too
Didst flye, whose children wrought thy childrens wo.
Yet thou in all thy solitude and grief,
On stones didst sleep and found'st but cold relief;
Thou from the Day-star a long way didst stand
And all that distance was Law and command.
But we a healing Sun by day and night,
Have our sure Guardian, and our leading light;
What thou didst hope for and believe, we finde
And feel a friend most ready, sure and kinde.
Thy pillow was but type and shade at best,
But we the substance have, and on him rest.
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