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The poetical works of Thomas Traherne

faithfully reprinted from the author's original manuscript together with Poems of Felicity reprinted from the Burney manuscript and Poems from Various Sources: Edited with preface and notes by Gladys I. Wade

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Right Apprehension.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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167

Right Apprehension.

[I.]

Giv but to things their tru Esteem,
And those which now so vile and worthless seem
Will so much fill and pleas the Mind,
That we shall there the only Riches find,
How wise was I
In Infancy!
I then saw in the clearest Light;
But corrupt Custom is a second Night.
Custom; that must a Trophy be
When Wisdom shall compleat her Victory:
For Trades, Opinions, Errors, are
False Lights, but yet receiv'd to set off Ware
More false: We're sold
For worthless Gold.
Diana was a Goddess made
That Silver-Smiths might have the better Trade.
But giv to Things their tru Esteem,
And then what's magnify'd most vile will seem:
What commonly's despis'd, will be
The truest and the greatest Rarity.
What Men should prize
They all despise;
The best Enjoiments are abus'd;
The Only Wealth by Madmen is refus'd.
A Globe of Earth is better far
Than if it were a Globe of Gold: A Star
Much brighter than a precious Stone:
The Sun more Glorious than a Costly Throne;
His warming Beam,
A living Stream
Of liquid Pearl, that from a Spring
Waters the Earth, is a most precious thing.

168

What Newness once suggested to,
Now clearer Reason doth improv, my View:
By Novelty my Soul was taught
At first; but now Reality my Thought
Inspires: And I
Perspicuously
Each way instructed am; by Sense
Experience, Reason, and Intelligence.
A Globe of Gold must Barren be,
Untill'd and Useless: We should neither see
Trees, Flowers, Grass, or Corn
Such a Metalline Massy Globe adorn:
As Splendor blinds,
So Hardness binds;
No Fruitfulness it can produce;
A Golden World can't be of any Use.
Ah me! This World is more divine:
The Wisdom of a God in this doth shine.
What ails Mankind to be so cross?
The Useful Earth they count vile Dirt and Dross:
And neither prize
Its Qualities,
Nor Donor's Lov. I fain would know
How or why Men God's Goodness disallow.
The Earth's rare ductile Soil,
Which duly yields unto the Plow-man's Toil,
Its fertile Nature, givs Offence;
And its Improvment by the Influence
Of Hev'n; For, these
Do not well pleas,
Becaus they do upbraid Mens hardned Hearts,
And each of them an Evidence imparts

169

Against the Owner; whose Design
It is that Nothing be reputed fine,
Nor held for any Excellence,
Of which he hath not in himself the Sense.
He too well knows
That no Fruit grows
In him, Obdurat Wretch, who yields
Obedience to Hev'n, less than the Fields:
But being, like his loved Gold,
Stiff, barren, and impen'trable; tho told
He should be otherwise: He is
Uncapable of any hev'nly Bliss.
His Gold and he
Do well agree;
For he's a formal Hypocrite,
Like that Unfruitful, yet on th' outside bright.
Ah! Happy Infant! Wealthy Heir!
How blessed did the Hev'n and Earth appear
Before thou knew'st there was a thing
Call'd Gold! Barren of Good; of Ill the Spring
Beyond Compare!
Most quiet were
Those Infant-Days, when I did see
Wisdom and Wealth couch'd in Simplicity.

II.

If this I did not evry moment see,
And if my Thoughts did stray
At any time, or idly play,
And fix on other Objects: yet
This Apprehension set
In me
Secur'd my Felicity.