Come, my Way, my Truth, my Life:
Such a Way, as gives us breath:
Such a Truth, as ends all strife:
Such a Life, as killeth death.
Come, my Light, my Feast, my Strength:
Such a Light, as shows a feast:
Such a Feast, as mends in length:
Such a Strength, as makes His guest.
Come, my Joy, my Love, my Heart:
Such a Joy, as none can move:
Such a Love, as none can part:
Such a Heart, as joys in love.
After Herbert comes Henry Vaughan (1621-95), ‘the Silurist,’ or South
Wales man, who says that his master was ‘the blessed man, Mr. George
Herbert, whose holy life and verse gained many pious converts, of whom
I am the least.’ Vaughan had his devoted admirers, but his verse never
attained anything approaching to the popularity of Herbert’s. It was
long the fashion to ignore or disparage him, and it was not till Henry
Francis Lyte republished his _Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations_,
with a brief memoir, that he came to his rightful place amongst the
minor, but not to be forgotten, poets of the seventeenth century. He
was a mystic, and had visions Blake might have envied.
I saw Eternity the other night,
Like a great ring of pure and endless light,
All calm as it was bright:
And round beneath it, Time, in hours, days, years,
Driven by the spheres,
Like a vast shadow moved, in which the world
And all her train were hurled.
Vaughan’s songs have the marks of the true Christian poet—intense
devotion to Christ, humility, ecstasy. His best-known hymns are—‘My
soul, there is a country,’ and ‘Up to those bright and gladsome hills’
(Ps. cxxi.). I give one less often quoted. Vaughan’s title is