This is the famous stone

That turneth all to gold,

For that which God doth touch and own
Cannot for less be told.

221.

THE COLLAR

I STRUCK the board and cried, No more;
I will abroad.

What, shall I ever sigh and pine?

My lines and life are free, free as the road,
Loose as the wind, as large as store.

Shall I be still in suit?

Have I no harvest but a thorn
To let me blood, and not restore
What I have lost with cordial fruit?
Sure there was wine

Before my sighs did dry it; there was corn
Before my tears did drown it.

Is the year only lost to me?
Have I no bays to crown it?

No flowers, no garlands gay? All blasted?
All wasted?

Not so, my heart; but there is fruit,
And thou hast hands.

Recover all thy sigh-blown age

On double pleasure: leave thy cold dispute
Of what is fit and not; forsake thy cage,
Thy rope of sands

Which petty thoughts have made, and made to thee
Good cable to enforce and draw

And be thy law,

While thou didst wink and wouldst not see.
Away: take heed,

I will abroad.

Call in thy death's head there: tie up thy fears.
He that forbears

To suit and serve his need

Deserves his load.

(L) HC-Vol. 40

But as I raved and grew more fierce and wild
At every word,

Methought I heard one calling 'Child!'
And I replied 'My Lord!'

222

THE FLOWER

How fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean
Are thy returns! Ev'n as the flowers in Spring,
To which, besides their own demean,
The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring;
Grief melts away

Like snow in May,

As if there were no such cold thing.

Who would have thought my shrivell❜d heart
Could have recover'd greenness? It was gone
Quite under ground; as flowers depart
To see their mother-root, when they have blown,
Where they together

All the hard weather,

Dead to the world, keep house unknown.

These are Thy wonders, Lord of power,
Killing and quick'ning, bringing down to Hell
And up to Heaven in an hour;
Making a chiming of a passing bell.
We say amiss

This or that is;

Thy word is all, if we could spell.

O that I once past changing were,
Fast in thy Paradise where no flower can wither!
Many a Spring I shoot up fair,

Off'ring at Heaven, growing and groaning thither;
Nor doth my flower

Want a Spring shower,.

My sins and I joining together.

223

EASTER SONG

I GOT me flowers to strew Thy way,
I got me boughs off many a tree;
But Thou wast up by break of day,

And brought'st Thy sweets along with Thee.

The sun arising in the East,

Though he give light and th' East perfume, If they should offer to contest

With Thy arising, they presume.

Can there be any day but this,

Though many suns to shine endeavour?
We count three hundred, but we miss:
There is but one, and that one ever.

224

THE PULLEY

WHEN God at first made Man,
Having a glass of blessings standing by-
Let us (said He) pour on him all we can;
Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie,
Contract into a span.

So strength first made a way,

Then beauty flow'd, then wisdom, honour, pleasure;
When almost all was out, God made a stay,
Perceiving that, alone of all His treasure,
Rest in the bottom lay.

For if I should (said He)

Bestow this jewel also on My creature,
He would adore My gifts instead of Me,
And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature:
So both should losers be.

Yet let him keep the rest,

But keep them with repining restlessness;
Let him be rich and weary, that at least,
If goodness lead him not, yet weariness
May toss him to My breast.

225

HENRY VAUGHAN

[1622-1695]

Beyond the Veil

THEY are all gone into the world of light,
And I alone sit lingering here;
Their very memory is fair and bright,

And my sad thoughts doth clear.

It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast,
Like stars upon some gloomy grove,

Or those faint beams in which this hill is dressed,
After the sun's remove.

I see them walking in an air of glory,
Whose light doth trample on my days;
My days, which are at best but dull and hoary,
Mere glimmerings and decays.

O holy Hope, and high Humility,

High as the heavens above!

These are your walks, and you have showed them me,
To kindle my cold love.

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!

He that hath found some fledged bird's nest, may know
At first sight, if the bird be flown;

But what fair well or grove he sings in now,

That is to him unknown.

226

And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams
Call to the soul when man doth sleep,

So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes,
And into glory peep.

If a star were confined into a tomb,

Her captive flames must needs burn there;
But when the hand that locked her up, gives room,
She'll shine through all the sphere.

O Father of Eternal Life, and all

Created glories under Thee!

Resume Thy spirit from this world of thrall
Into true liberty.

Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill
My perspective still, as they pass;

Or else remove me hence unto that hill
Where I shall need no glass.

THE RETREAT

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 walk'd 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;

Before I taught my tongue to wound
My conscience with a sinful sound,
Or had the black art to dispense
A several sin to every sense,