Henry Vaughan Quotes
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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.
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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; When yet I had not walked 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.
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Bright pledge of peace and sunshine! the sure tie Of thy Lord's hand, the object of His eye! When I behold thee, though my light be dim, Distinct, and low, I can in thine see Him Who looks upon thee from His glorious throne, And minds the covenant between all and One.
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Prayer is The world in tune, A spirit-voyce, And vocall joyes, Whose Eccho is heaven's blisse.
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Holy writing must strive (by all means) for perfection and true holiness, that a door may be opened to him in heaven.
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Some syllables are swords.
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They are all gone into the world of light, and I alone sit lingering here.
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A ward, and still in bonds, one day I stole abroad; It was high spring, and all the way Primrosed and hung with shade; Yet was it frost within, And surly winds Blasted my infant buds, and sin Like clouds eclipsed my mind.
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But felt through all this fleshly dresse Bright shootes of everlastingnesse.
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So stick up ivy and the bays, and then restore the heathen ways, green will remind you of the Spring, though this great day denies the thing, and mortifies the earth, and all, but your wild revels, and loose hall.
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Should poor souls fear a shade or night, Who came sure from a sea of light? Or since those drops are all sent back So sure to thee, that none doth lack, Why should frail flesh doubt any more That what God takes, He'll not restore?
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And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams Call to the soul when man doth sleep. So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted dreams, And into glory peep.
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Early, as well as late, Rise with the sun, and set in the same bowers
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As great a store Have we of books as bees of herbs or more.
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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.
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Dear, beauteous death, the jewel of the just! Shining nowhere but in the dark; What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, Could man outlook that mark!
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If thou canst but thither, There grows the flower of Peace, The Rose that cannot wither, Thy fortress and thy ease.
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Bright shadows of true rest! some shoots of bliss; Heaven once a week; The next world's gladness prepossest in this; A day to seek; Eternity in time; the steps by which We climb above all ages: lamps that light Man through his heap of dark days; and the rich And full redemption of the whole week's flight.
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Death, and darkness get you packing, Nothing now to man is lacking, All your triumphs now are ended, And what Adam marred, is mended.
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As men are killed by fighting, the truth is lost in disputing.
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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.
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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.
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For each inclosed spirit is a star Enlightening his own little sphere
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Dear beauteous death, the jewel of the just.
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Mornings are mysteries; the first world's youth, Man's resurrection, and the future's bud Shroud in their births.
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Sure thou did'st nourish once! and many springs, Many bright mornings, much dew, many showers, Passed o'er thy head; many light hearts and wings, Which now are dead, lodg'd in thy living bowers. And still a new succession sings and flies; Fresh groves grow up, and their green branches shoot Towards the old and still-enduring skies; While the low violet thrives at their root.
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The sun doth shake Light from his locks, and, all the way Breathing perfumes, doth spice the day.
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Man hath still either toys or care: But hath no root, nor to one place is tied, but ever restless and irregular, about this earth doth run and ride. He knows he hath a home, but scarce knows where; He says it is so far, that he has quite forgot how to go there.
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I saw Eternity the other night Like a great ring of pure and endless light, All calm as it was bright.
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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!
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