A Star for "The World"

When you consider the Christmas Star this night, think upon this poem by my distant cousin, Henry Vaughan, Silurist (1621-1695):

I saw Eternity the other night, 

Like a great ring of pure and endless light, 

All calm, as it was bright; 

And round beneath it, Time in hours, days, years, 

Driv’n by the spheres 

Like a vast shadow mov’d; in which the world 

And all her train were hurl’d. 

The doting lover in his quaintest strain 

Did there complain; 

Near him, his lute, his fancy, and his flights, 

Wit’s sour delights, 

With gloves, and knots, the silly snares of pleasure, 

Yet his dear treasure 

All scatter’d lay, while he his eyes did pour 

Upon a flow’r. 

The darksome statesman hung with weights and woe, 

Like a thick midnight-fog mov’d there so slow, 

He did not stay, nor go; 

Condemning thoughts (like sad eclipses) scowl 

Upon his soul, 

And clouds of crying witnesses without 

Pursued him with one shout. 

Yet digg’d the mole, and lest his ways be found, 

Work’d under ground, 

Where he did clutch his prey; but one did see 

That policy; 

Churches and altars fed him; perjuries 

Were gnats and flies; 

It rain’d about him blood and tears, but he 

Drank them as free. 

The fearful miser on a heap of rust 

Sate pining all his life there, did scarce trust 

His own hands with the dust, 

Yet would not place one piece above, but lives 

In fear of thieves; 

Thousands there were as frantic as himself, 

And hugg’d each one his pelf; 

The downright epicure plac’d heav’n in sense, 

And scorn’d pretence, 

While others, slipp’d into a wide excess, 

Said little less; 

The weaker sort slight, trivial wares enslave, 

Who think them brave; 

And poor despised Truth sate counting by 

Their victory. 

Yet some, who all this while did weep and sing, 

And sing, and weep, soar’d up into the ring; 

But most would use no wing. 

O fools (said I) thus to prefer dark night 

Before true light, 

To live in grots and caves, and hate the day 

Because it shews the way, 

The way, which from this dead and dark abode 

Leads up to God, 

A way where you might tread the sun, and be 

More bright than he. 

But as I did their madness so discuss 

One whisper’d thus, 

“This ring the Bridegroom did for none provide, 

But for his bride.”