Henry Vaughan (1621–1695)

HAPPY those early days, when I

Shin’d in my angel-infancy!

Before I understood this place

Appointed for my second race,

Or taught my soul to fancy ought

But a white, celestial thought;

When yet I had not walk’d above

A mile or two from my first love,

And looking back—at that short space—

Could see a glimpse of His bright face;

When on some gilded cloud, or flow’r,

My gazing soul would dwell an hour,

And in those weaker glories spy

Some shadows of eternity;

Before I taught my tongue to wound

My conscience with a sinful sound,

Or had the black art to dispense

A sev’ral sin to every sense,

But felt through all this fleshly dress

Bright shoots of everlastingness.

O how I long to travel back,

And tread again that ancient track!

That I might once more reach that plain,

Where first I left my glorious train;

From whence th’ enlighten’d spirit sees

That shady City of palm-trees.

But ah! my soul with too much stay

Is drunk, and staggers in the way!

Some men a forward motion love,

But I by backward steps would move;

And when this dust falls to the urn,

In that state I came, return.