Poem October 18, 1900 Issue

Seek not the same steps with the crowd; stick thou...

Henry Vaughan

Seek not the same steps with the crowd; stick thou
To thy sure trot; a constant, humble mind
Is both his own joy, and his Maker's too;
Let folly dust it on, or lag behind.
A sweet self-privacy in a right soul
Outruns the earth, and lines the utmost pole.

When night comes, list thy deeds; make plain the way
'Twixt heaven and thee; block it not with delays,
But perfect all before thou sleep'st: then say,
"There's one sun more strung on my bead of days."
What's good score up for joy; the bad, well scanned,
Wash off with tears, and get thy Master's hand.

Being laid, and dressed for sleep, close not thy eyes.
Up with thy curtains; give thy soul the wing
In some good thoughts; so when the day shall ride,
And thou unrak'st thy fire, those sparks will bring
New flames; besides where those lodge, vain heats mourn
And die; that bush, where God is, shall not burn.

Henry Vaughan, 1621–1695.

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