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HENRY VAUGHAN.

HENRY VAUGHAN was born in Brecknockshire, in 1621. He was intended for the bar, but at the commencement of the civil war he relinquished it, and became eminent both as a poet and a physician. His sacred poems are remarkable for originality and picturesque grace, though it must be confessed they are sullied with many conceits unworthy of the theme. He died in 1695.

THE SEARCH.

'Tis now clear day: I see a rose
Bud in the bright east, and disclose
The pilgrim sun; all night have I
Spent in a roving ecstasy

To find my Saviour; I have been
As far as Bethlehem, and have seen
His inn and cradle: being there

I met the wise men; asked them where
He might be found, or what star can
Now point him out, grown up a man?
To Egypt hence I fled, ran o'er
All her parched bosom to Nile's shore,
Her yearly nurse: came back, inquired
Among the doctors, and desired
To see the temple; but was shown

A little dust, and for the town

A heap of ashes, where some said
A small bright sparkle was a-bed,
Which would one day (beneath the pole)
Awake, and then refine the whole.
Tired here, I came to Sychar; thence
To Jacob's well, bequeathed since

Unto his sons; where often they

In those calm golden evenings lay,
Watering their flocks; and having spent
Those white days, drove home to the tent
Their well-fleeced train; and here (O fate!)
I sit where once my Saviour sate.
The angry spring in bubbles swelled,
Which broke in sighs still as they filled.
And whispered Jesus had been there,
But Jacob's children would not hear.
Loth hence to part, at last I rise,
But with the fountain in my eyes;
And here a fresh search is decreed,
He must be found where He did bleed.
I walk the garden, and there see
Ideas of his agony,

And moving anguishments, that set
His blessed face in a bloody sweat:
I climbed the hill, perused the cross,
Hung with my gain and his great loss;
Never did tree bear fruit like this,
Balsam of souls, the body's bliss!
But, O his grave! where I saw lent
(For He had none) a monument,
An undefiled and new hewed one,
But there was not the Corner Stone;
"Sure then," said I, "my quest is vain,
He'll not be found where He was slain.
So mild a Lamb can never be
'Midst so much blood and cruelty;
I'll to the wilderness, and can
Find beasts more merciful than man;
He lived there safe, 'twas his retreat
From the fierce Jew, and Herod's heat;
And forty days withstood the fell

And high temptations of hell.
With seraphims there talked He,

His Father's flaming ministry:

He heavened their walks, and with his eyes
Made those wild shades a paradise:
Thus was the desert sanctified,

To be the refuge of his Bride.

I'll thither then; see! it is day;

The sun's broke through to guide my way."
But as I urged thus, and sit down,

What pleasures should my journey crown;
What silent paths, what shady cells,
Fair virgin flowers, and hallowed wells,
I should rove in, and rest my head
Where my dear Lord did often tread;
Sug ring all danger with success,

Methought I heard one singing thus:
"Search well another world; who studies this
Travels in clouds, seeks manna where none is."

EARLY RISING AND PRAYER.

WHEN first thy eyes unveil, give thy soul leave
To do the like; our bodies but forerun
The spirit's duty; true hearts spread and heave
Unto their God, as flowers do to the sun:
Give Him thy first thoughts then, so shalt thou keep
Him company all day, and in Him sleep.

Yet never sleep the sun up; prayer should

Dawn with the day: these are set awful hours
'Twixt heaven and us; the manna was not good
After sunrising; for day sullies flowers:
Rise to prevent1 the sun; sleep doth sins glut,
And heaven's gates open when the world is shut.
Walk with thy fellow-creatures; note the hush

And whisperings amongst them. Not a spring
Or leaf but hath his morning hymn; each bush
And oak doth know I AM!-Canst thou not sing:

I Anticipate.

Oh! leave thy cares and follies! go this way,
And thou art sure to prosper all the day.

Serve God before the world; let Him not go
Until thou hast a blessing; then resign
The whole unto Him, and remember who

Prevailed by wrestling ere the sun did shine:
Pour oil upon the stones, seek sin forgiven,
Then journey on, and have an eye to heaven.
Mornings are mysteries: the first world's youth,
Man's resurrection, and the future's bud,

Shroud in their births; the crown of life, light, truth,
Is styled their star; the stone and hidden food:
Three blessings wait upon them, one of which
Should move-They make us holy, happy, rich.
When the world's up, and every swarm abroad,

Keep well thy temper, mix not with each clay; Despatch necessities; life hath a load

Which must be carried on, and safely may: Yet keep those cares without thee; let the heart Be God's alone, and choose the better part.

HEAVEN IN PROSPECT.

THEY are all gone into a world of light,
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 the hill is drest
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 no where 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 field, or grove, he sings in now,
That is to him unknown.

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 flame must needs burn there;

But when the hand that locked her up gave room,
She'd 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.

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