Diary of the Plague Year: Day 46 30 April 2020: Quotidian Poetry: Eight Metaphysical Poets Henry Vaughan (1621-1695)

THE MORNING WATCH
 
O joys! Infinite sweetness! With what flowres,
And shoots of glory, my soul breakes, and buds!
                   All the long houres
                   Of night, and Rest
                   Through the still shrouds
                   Of sleep, and Clouds,
             This Dew fell on my Breast;
                   O how it Blouds,
And Spirits all my Earth! heark! In what Rings,
And Hymning Circulations the quick world
                   Awakes, and sings;
                   And rising winds,
                   And failing springs,
                   Birds, beasts, all things
            Adore him in their kinds.
                   Thus all is hurl’d
In sacred Hymnes, and Order, the great Chime
And Symphony of nature. Prayer is
                   The world in tune,
                   A spirit-voyce,
                   And vocall joyes
            Whose Echo is heav’ns blisse.          
                   O let me climbe.
When I lye down! The Pious soul by night
Is like a clouded starre, whose beames though said
                   To shed their light
                   Under some Cloud
                   Yet are above,
                   And shine, and move
            Beyond that mistie shroud.
                   So in my Bed
That Curtain’d grave, though sleep, like ashes, hide
My lamp, and life, both shall in thee abide.