March 22, 2017 34 Comments
I don’t know why, although I have some ideas, but lately, I have trouble sleeping. Usually, prayer calms me down enough to get to sleep, and then I’m good for the night. The last few months, it hasn’t worked all that well, and so sometimes, I end up having a few stiff scotches to help, even though it’s hardly optimal. I’ve long since asked God to fix it, and still am for it’s more a matter of the soul than anything else, and we all know His power. I’m sure He will, but He hasn’t yet.
So often it ends up that I’m up and wide awake in the middle of the night, doing this or that. Often I’ll read old posts, either here or at AATW, and wonder how to get back to the way I was writing then. Last night was one of those, and I ran across a poem that Fr Robert mentioned in comments a few years ago. It’s one by Henry Vaughn, and in fact, one that is also an old favorite of mine as well. So, I decided to share it once again with you all. Enjoy
THEY ARE ALL GONE INTO THE WORLD OF LIGHT.
THEY are all gone into the world of light !
And I alone sit ling’ring here ;
Their very memory is fair and bright,
And my sad thoughts doth clear.
It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast,
Like stars upon some gloomy grove,
Or those faint beams in which this hill is dress’d,
After the sun’s remove.
I see them walking in an air of glory,
Whose light doth trample on my days :
My days, which are at best but dull and hoary,
Mere glimmering and decays.
O holy Hope ! and high Humility,
High as the heavens above !
These are your walks, and you have show’d them me,
To kindle my cold love.
Dear, beauteous Death ! the jewel of the just,
Shining nowhere, but in the dark ;
What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust,
Could man outlook that mark !
He that hath found some fledg’d bird’s nest, may know
At first sight, if the bird be flown ;
But what fair well or grove he sings in now,
That is to him unknown.
And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams
Call to the soul when man doth sleep,
So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes,
And into glory peep.
If a star were confin’d into a tomb,
Her captive flames must needs burn there ;
But when the hand that lock’d her up, gives room,
She’ll shine through all the sphere.
O Father of eternal life, and all
Created glories under Thee !
Resume Thy spirit from this world of thrall
Into true liberty.
Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill
My perspective still as they pass :
Or else remove me hence unto that hill
Where I shall need no glass.