Henry Vaughan

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

The Pursuit

LORD ! what a busy, restless thing 
Hast Thou made man ! 
Each day and hour he is on wing, 
Rests not a span ; 
Then having lost the sun and light, 
By clouds surpris'd, 
He keeps a commerce in the night 
With air disguis'd. 
Hadst Thou given to this active dust 
A state untir'd, 
The lost son had not left the husk, 
Nor home desir'd. 
That was Thy secret, and it is 
Thy mercy too ; 
For when all fails to bring to bliss, 
Then this must do. 
Ah, Lord ! and what a purchase will that be, 
To take us sick, that sound would not take Thee !