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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, Driven by the spheres, Like a vast shadow moved, in which the world And all her train were hurled. 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 scattered lay, while he his eyes did pour Upon a flower. The darksome Statesman hung with weights and woe, Like a thick midnight fog, moved there so slow He did nor stay nor go; Condemning thoughts, like sad eclipses, scowl Upon his soul, And clouds of crying witnesses without Pursued him with one shout. Yet digged the mole, and, lest his ways be found, Worked 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 rained about him blood and tears, but he Drank them as free. The fearful Miser on a heap of rust Sat 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 hugged each one his pelf. The downright Epicure placed heaven in sense And scorned pretence; While others, slipped into a wide excess, Said little less; The weaker sort, slight, trivial wares enslave, Who think them brave; And poor despisèd Truth sat counting by Their victory. Yet some, who all this while did weep and sing, And sing and weep, soared up into the Ring; But most would use no wing. 'Oh, fools,' said I, 'thus to prefer dark night Before true light, To live in grots and caves, and hate the day Because it shows the way, The way which from this dead and dark abode Leaps 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 whispered thus, This Ring the Bridegroom did for none provide But for his Bride. |