Henry Vaughan

Here you will find the Poem The Call of poet Henry Vaughan

The Call


COME, my heart ! come, my head, 
In sighs, and tears ! 
'Tis now, since you have lain thus dead, 
Some twenty years ; 
Awake, awake, 
Some pity take 
Upon yourselves ! 
Who never wake to groan, nor weep, 
Shall be sentenc'd for their sleep.


Do but see your sad estate, 
How many sands 
Have left us, while we careless sate 
With folded hands ; 
What stock of nights, 
Of days, and years 
In silent flights 
Stole by our ears ; 
How ill have we ourselves bestow'd, 
Whose suns are all set in a cloud !


Yet come, and let's peruse them all, 
And as we pass, 
What sins on every minute fall 
Score on the glass ; 
Then weigh, and rate 
Their heavy state, 
The glass with tears you fill ; 
That done, we shall be safe and good : 
Those beasts were clean that chew'd the cud.