Saturday, April 30

'The Morning Watch'

Dear Dear Soul of Mine,
What really breaks and buds you most?
Is it the glory of beaches and serfs?
Is it the mighty mountains and the snow?
Is it the little summer-rain deranged flowers 
in my garden?
Is it the rumblings of my Maker all around me...
all within me.... 
Tell me please...,
What really breaks and buds you most?
The night has brought down all these leaves and they haven’t been raked... 
In the morning I see them brown and beautiful 

O joys! Infinite sweetness! with what flowers
And shoots of glory, my soul breaks and buds!
          All the long hours
          Of night and rest,
          Through the still shrouds
          Of sleep, and clouds,
     This dew fell on my breast;
          O how it bloods,
And spirits all my earth! hark! in what rings,
And hymning circulations the quick world
          Awakes, and sings!
          The rising winds,
          And falling springs,
          Birds, beasts, all things
     Adore Him in their kinds.
          Thus all is hurl'd
In sacred hymns and order ; the great chime
And symphony of Nature. Prayer is
          The world in tune,
          A spirit-voice,
          And vocal joys,
     Whose echo is heaven's bliss.
          O let me climb

Solitary mountains, a frozen brook and a sleepy morning... 
When I lie down! The pious soul by night

Is like a clouded star, whose beams, though said
          To shed their light
          Under some cloud,
          Yet are above,
          And shine and move
     Beyond that misty shroud.
          So in my bed,
That curtain'd grave, though sleep, like ashes, hide
My lamp and life, both shall in Thee abide.

... and a morning friendship by the serf and the waves

Henry Vaughan's 'The Morning Watch'
Photos: From my files. 

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