Henry Vaughan, “The Book”

Eternal God! maker of all 
That have liv’d here, since the mans fall; 
The Rock of ages! in whose shade
They live unseen, when here they fade. 

Thou knew’st this papyr, when it was 
Meer seed, and after that but grass; 
Before ’twas drest or spun, and when
Made linen, who did wear it then: 
What were their lifes, their thoughts and deeds
Whither good corn, or fruitless weeds.

	Thou knew’st this Tree, when a green shade 
Cover’d it, since a Cover made,
And where it flourish’d, grew and spread,
As if it never should be dead. 

	Thou knew’st this harmless beast, when he
Did live and feed by thy decree 
On each green thing; then slept (well fed) 
Cloath’d with this skin, which now lies spred
A Covering o’re this aged book,
Which makes me wisely weep and look
On my own dust; meer dust it is, 
But not so dry and clean as this. 
Thou knew’st and saw’st them all and though
Now scatter’d thus, dost know them so. 

	O knowing, glorious spirit! when
Thou shalt restore trees, beasts and men,
When thou shalt make all new again,
Destroying onely death and pain,
Give him amongst thy works a place,
Who in them lov’d and sought thy face!

Henry Vaughan, 1661-1695 – “The Book” from Complete Poems