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THE CALL.
by Henry Vaughan
COME, my heart ! come, my
head,
In sighs,
and tears !
'Tis now, since you have lain thus dead,
Some twenty
years ;
Awake,
awake,
Some pity
take
Upon yourselves
!
Who never wake to groan, nor weep,
Shall be sentenc'd for their sleep.
2.
Do but see your sad estate,
How many
sands
Have left us, while we careless sate
With folded
hands ;
What stock
of nights,
Of days,
and years
In silent
flights
Stole
by our ears ;
How ill have we ourselves bestow'd,
Whose suns are all set in a cloud !
3.
Yet come, and let's peruse them all,
And as
we pass,
What sins on every minute fall
Score
on the glass ;
Then weigh,
and rate
Their
heavy state,
Until
The glass with tears you
fill ;
That done, we shall be safe and good :
Those beasts were clean that chew'd the cud.
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Source:
Vaughan, Henry. The Poems of Henry Vaughan, Silurist. vol I.
E. K. Chambers, Ed. London, Lawrence & Bullen Ltd., 1896. 52-53.
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Created by Anniina Jokinen on July 28, 1997. Last updated on October 16, 2000.
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