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Poem by Henry Vaughan
A Dialogue Soul. 'TIS a sad Land, that in one day Hath dull'd thee thus ; when death shall freeze Thy blood to ice, and thou must stay Tenant for years, and centuries; How wilt thou brook't? Body. I cannot tell; But if all sense wings not with thee, And something still be left the dead, I'll wish my curtains off, to free Me from so dark and sad a bed: A nest of nights, a gloomy sphere, Where shadows thicken, and the cloud Sits on the sun's brow all the year, And nothing moves without a shroud. Soul. 'Tis so : but as thou saw'st that night We travail'd in, our first attempts Were dull and blind, but custom straight Our fears and falls brought to contempt: Then, when the ghastly twelve was past, We breath'd still for a blushing East, And bade the lazy sun make haste, And on sure hopes, though long, did feast. But when we saw the clouds to crack, And in those crannies light appear'd, We thought the day then was not slack, And pleas'd ourselves with what we fear'd. Just so it is in death. But thou Shalt in thy mother's bosom sleep, Whilst I each minute groan to know How near Redemption creeps. Then shall wee meet to mix again, and met, 'Tis last good-night; our Sun shall never set. JOB, CAP. IO. VER. 21, 22. Before I go whence I shall not return, even to the land of darkness, and the shadow of death; A Land of darkness, as darkness itself, and of the shadow of death, without any order, and where the light is as darkness.
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