Man
Weighing the steadfastness and state Of some mean things which here below reside, Where birds like watchful clocks the noiseless date And intercourse of times divide; Where bees at night get home and hive, and flowers Early, as well as late, Rise with the sun, and set in the same bowers; I would, said I, my God would give The staidness of these things to man! for these To His divine appointments ever cleave, And no new business breaks their peace; The birds nor sow nor reap, yet sup and dine; The flowers without clothes live, Yet Solomon was never dressed so fine. Man hath still either toys or care; He hath no root, nor to one place is tied, But ever restless and irregular About this 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 go 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.
Henry Vaughan’s other poems:
Poems of other poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием):
