Henry Vaughan (Генри Воэн)

* * *

1.

COME, come! what do I here?
Since he is gone
Each day is grown a dozen year
And each hour, one;
Come, come!
Cut off the sum:
By these soil'd tears!
Which only Thou
Know'st to be true,
Days are my fears.

2.

There's not a wind can stir,
Or beam pass by,
But straight I think, though far,
Thy hand is nigh.
Come, come!
Strike these lips dumb:
This restless breath,
That soils Thy name,
Will ne'er be tame
Until in death.

3.

Perhaps some think a tomb
No house of store,
But a dark and seal'd up womb,
Which ne'er breeds more.
Come, come!
Such thoughts benumb:
But I would be
With him I weep
Abed, and sleep,
To wake in Thee. 

1. The Relapse
2. The True Christians
3. Joy of My Life While Left Me Here!
4. Upon The Priory Grove, His Usual Retirement
5. The Timber

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