By Henry Vaughan
O joys! infinite sweetness! with what flow’rs
And shoots of glory my soul breaks and buds!
All the long hours
Of night, and rest,
Through the still shrouds
Of sleep, and clouds,
This dew fell on my breast;
Oh, how it bloods
And spirits all my earth! Hark! In what rings
And hymning circulations the quick world
Awakes and sings;
The rising winds
And falling springs,
Birds, beasts, all things
Adore him in their kinds.
Thus all is hurl’d
In sacred hymns and order, the great chime
And symphony of nature. Prayer is
The world in tune,
A spirit voice,
And vocal joys
Whose echo is heav’n’s bliss.
O let me climb
When I lie down! The pious soul by night
Is like a clouded star whose beams, though said
To shed their light
Under some cloud,
Yet are above,
And shine and move
Beyond that misty shroud.
So in my bed,
That curtain’d grave, though sleep, like ashes, hide
My lamp and life, both shall in thee abide.
Poet Bio
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With what deep murmurs through time’s silent stealth
Doth thy transparent, cool, and wat’ry wealth
Here flowing fall,
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As if his liquid, loose retinue stay’d
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We've always been out looking for answers,
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unfolding like origami, navigating
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I have no theory of radiance,
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When I die,
bury me in the sky—
no one is fighting over it.
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Being
Wake up, greet the sun, and pray.
Burn cedar, sweet grass, sage—
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for we have been gifted these ways since the beginning of time.
Remember, when you step into the arena of your life,
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