HENRY VAUGHAN
Man hath still either toys or care;
He hath no root, nor to one place is tied, But ever restless and irregular
About the earth doth run and ride, He knows he hath a home, but scarce knows where;
He says it is so far That he hath quite forgot how to get there.
He knocks at all doors, strays and roams;
Nay hath not so much wit as some stones have Which in the darkest nights point to their homes,
By some hid sense their Maker gave; Man is the shuttle to whose winding quest
And passage through these looms God ordered motion, but ordained no rest.
��Eternity
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
Driv'n by the spheres Like a vast shadow mov'd, In which the world
And all her train were hurl'd; The doting Lover in his quaintest strain Did these Complain,
Yet some, who all this while did weep and sing, And sing, and weep, soar'd up into the Ring, But most would use no wing.
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