Part 11

An inward Omnipresence here Mysteriously like His within me stands Whose knowledge is a Sacred Sphere That in itself at once includes all lands. There is some Angel that within me can Both talk and move, And walk and fly and see and love, A man on earth, a man Above.

III

Dull walls of clay my Spirit leaves, And in a foreign Kingdom doth appear, This great Apostle it receives Admires His works and sees them, standing here. Within myself from East to West I move As if I were At once a Cherubim and Sphere, Or was at once above And here.

IV

The Soul's a messenger whereby Within our inward Temple we may be Even like the very Deity In all the parts of His Eternity. O live within and leave unwieldy dross! Flesh is but clay! O fly my Soul and haste away To Jesus' Throne or Cross-- Obey!

POEMS EXTRACTED FROM TRAHERNE'S "CHRISTIAN ETHICKS"

[All the following poems (excepting those in the "Appendix") are taken from Traherne's "Christian Ethicks." That they are all from his own pen cannot, I think, be doubted. They are entirely in his manner, and have little or no resemblance to that of any other poet. As the reader will see, I have, where necessary, quoted a few sentences from Traherne's prose in order to render the design of the verses more intelligible.]

[From pp. 344-5]

How glorious the Counsel and Design of God is for the Atchieving of this Great End, for the making of all Vertues more compleat and Excellent, and for the Heightening of their Beauty and Perfection we will exemplifie here in the Perfection of Courage. For the Height and depth and Splendor of every Vertue is of great Concernment to the Perfection of the Soul since the Glory of its Life is seated in the Accomplishment of its essence, in the fruit it yieldeth in its Operations. Take it in Verse made long ago upon this occasion--

For Man to Act as if his Soul did see The very Brightness of Eternity; For Man to Act as if his Love did burn Above the Spheres, even while it's in its Urne; For Man to Act even in the Wilderness, As if he did those Sovereign Joys possess, Which do at once confirm, stir up, enflame, And perfect Angels; having not the same! It doth increase the value of his Deeds, In this a Man a Seraphim exceeds. To Act on Obligations yet unknown, To Act upon Rewards as yet unshewn, To keep Commands whose Beauty's yet unseen, To Cherish and retain a Zeal between Sleeping and waking; shews a constant care, And that a deeper Love, a Love so rare, That no Eye Service may with it compare. The Angels, who are faithful while they view His Glory, know not what themselves would do, Were they in our Estate! A Dimmer Light Perhaps would make them erre as well as We And in the Coldness of a darker Night Forgetful and Lukewarm Themselves might be. Our very Rust shall cover us with Gold, Our Dust shall sprinkle[L] while their Eyes behold The Glory Springing from a feeble State, Where meer Belief doth, if not conquer Fate Surmount and pass what it doth Antedate.

[From p. 326]

In Matters of Art the force of Temperance is undeniable. It relateth not only to our Meats and Drinks, but to all our Behaviours, Passions, and Desires.

All Musick, Sawces, Feasts, Delights and Pleasures, Games, Dancing, Arts consist in govern'd Measures; Much more do Words and Passions of the Mind In Temperance their sacred Beauty find.

[From pp. 347-9]

If you say it would be Beneficial to God or to that Spectator or that intelligible Power, that Spirit for whom it was made: It is apparent that no Corporeal Being can be serviceable to a Spirit but only by the Beauty of those Services it performeth to other Corporeals that are capable of receiving them, and that therefore all Corporeals must be limited and bounded for each other's sake. And for this Cause it is that a Philosophical Poet said:

As in a Clock, 'tis hinder'd Force doth bring The Wheels to order'd Motion by a Spring; Which order'd Motion guides a steddy Hand In useful sort at Figures just to stand; Which, were it not by Counter-ballance staid, The Fabrick quickly would aside be laid As wholly useless: So a Might too Great But well proportion'd makes the World compleat. Power well-bounded is more Great in Might Than if let loose 'twere wholly Infinite. He could have made an endless Sea by this, But then it had not been a Sea of Bliss; A Sea that's bounded in a finite shore Is better far because it is no more. Should Waters endlessly exceed the Skies They'd drown the World, and all whate'er we prize. Had the bright Sun been Infinite its Flame Had burnt the World, and quite consumed the same. That Flame would yield no splendour to the Sight, 'Twould be but Darkness though 'twere Infinite. One Star made Infinite would all exclude, An Earth made Infinite could ne'er be view'd. But all being bounded for each other's sake, He, bounding all, did all most useful make; And which is best, in Profit and Delight Though not in Bulk, he made all Infinite! He, in his Wisdom, did their use extend By all, to all the World from End to End. In all Things all Things service do to all; And thus a Sand is Endless, though most small, And every Thing is truly Infinite In its Relation deep and exquisite.

[From p. 383 in Chapter XXV On Meekness]

Were all the World a Paradise of Ease 'Twere easie then to live in Peace. Were all men Wise, Divine, and Innocent, Just, Holy, Peaceful and Content, Kind, Loving, True and alwaies Good As in the Golden-Age they stood; 'Twere easie then to live In all Delight and Glory, full of Love, Blest as the Angels are above.

But we such Principles must now attain (If we true blessedness would gain) As those are which will help to make us reign Over Disorders, Injuries, Ingratitudes, Calamities, Affronts, Oppressions, Slanders, Wrongs, Lies, Angers, bitter Tongues; The reach of Malice must surmount, and quell The very Rage and Power of Hell.

[From pp. 394-9]

OF MEEKNESS

I

Mankind is sick, the World distemper'd lies Opprest with Sins and Miseries. Their Sins are Woes; a long corrupted Train Of Poyson, drawn from Adam's vein, Stains all his seed, and all his Kin Are one Disease of Life within; They all torment themselves! The World's one Bedlam, or a greater Cave Of Mad-men that do alwaies rave.

II

The Wise and Good like kind Physicians are, That strive to heal them by their Care; They Physick and their Learning calmly use Although the Patient them abuse, For since the Sickness is (they find) A sad Distemper of the Mind, All railings they impute, All Injuries, unto the sore Disease They are expresly come to ease.

III

If we would to the World's distempered Mind Impute the Rage which there we find, We might, even in the midst of all our Foes Enjoy and feel a sweet Repose, Might pity all the Griefs we see, Anointing every Malady With precious Oil and Balm; And while ourselves are calm, our Art improve To rescue them and show our Love.

IV

But let's not fondly our own selves beguile; If we Revile 'cause they Revile, Ourselves infected with their sore Disease Need other's Helps to give us ease; For we more Mad than they remain, Need to be cut, and need a Chain Far more than they. Our Brain Is craz'd, and if we put our Wit to theirs, We may be justly made their Heirs.

V

But while with open eyes we clearly see The brightness of His Majesty; While all the World by Sin to Satan sold, In daily Wickedness grows old, Men in chains of Darkness lye, In Bondage and Iniquity, And pierce and grieve themselves! The dismal Woes wherein they crawl, enhance The peace of our Inheritance.

VI

We wonder to behold our selves so nigh To so much Sin and Misery, And yet to see our selves so safe from harm! What Amulet, what hidden Charm Could fortifie and raise the Soul So far above them and controul Such fierce Malignity? The brightness and the glory which we see Is made a greater Mystery.

VII

And while we feel how much our God doth love The Peace of Sinners, how much move And sue, and thirst, intreat, lament, and grieve For all the Crimes in which they live, And seek and wait and call again, And long to save them from the pain Of Sin, from all their Woe! With greater thirst as well as grief we try, How to relieve their Misery.

VIII

The life and splendour of Felicity, Whose floods so overflowing be, The streams of Joy which round about his Throne Enrich and fill each Holy One, Are so abundant, that we can Spare all, even all to any Man! And have it all ourselves! Nay, have the more! We long to make them see The sweetness of Felicity.

IX

While we contemplate their Distresses, how Blind Wretches, they in bondage bow, And tear and wound themselves, and vex and groan, And chafe and fret so near His Throne know not what they ail, but lye Tormented in their Misery, (Like Mad-men that are blind) In works of darkness nigh such full Delight: That they might find and see the sight,

X

What would we give! that these might likewise see The Glory of His Majesty The joy and fulness of that high delight Whose Blessedness is infinite! We would even cease to live, to gain Them from their misery and pain, And make them with us reign, For they themselves would be our greatest Treasures, When sav'd our own most Heavenly Pleasures.

XI

O holy Jesus who didst for us die, And on the Altar bleeding lie, Bearing all torment, pain, reproach, and shame, That we, by vertue of the same, Though enemies to God, might be Redeem'd and set at liberty: As thou didst us forgive, So meekly let us love to others shew, And live in Heaven on Earth below.

XII

Let's prize their Souls, and let them be our Gems, Our Temples and our Diadems, Our Brides, our Friends, our fellow-Members, Eyes, Hands, Hearts and Souls, our Victories, And Spoils and Trophies, our own Joys! Compar'd to Souls all else are Toys; O Jesus, let them be Such unto us as they are unto Thee, Vessels of Glory and Felicity!

XIII

How will they love us, when they find our Care Brought them all thither where they are! When they conceive what terror 'tis to dwell In all the punishments of Hell; And in a lively manner see, O Christ, eternal Joys in thee! How will they all delight In praising Thee for us with all their might! How sweet a Grace, how infinite!

[From p. 425]

OF CONTENTMENT

Contentment is a sleepy thing If it in Death alone must die; A quiet Mind is worse than Poverty, Unless it from Enjoyment spring! That's Blessedness alone that makes a King! Wherein the Joys and Treasures are so great, They all the powers of the Soul employ, And fill it with a Work compleat, While it doth all enjoy. True Joys alone Contentment do inspire, Enrich Content and make our Courage higher. Content alone's a dead and silent Stone; The real life of Bliss Is Glory reigning in a Throne, Where all Enjoyment is. The Soul of Man is so inclin'd to see, Without his Treasures no man's Soul can be, Nor rest content Uncrown'd! Desire and Love Must in the height of all their Rapture move, Where there is true Felicity. Employment is the very life and ground Of Life itself; whose pleasant Motion is The form of Bliss: All Blessedness a life with Glory Crown'd: Life! Life is all; in its most full extent Stretcht out to all things, and with all Content!

[From p. 456, Of Magnanimity]

And if the Glory and Esteem I have, Be nothing else than what my Silver gave, If, for no other ground, I am with Love or Praises crown'd, 'Tis such a shame, such vile, such base Repute, 'Tis better starve than eat such empty Fruit.

APPENDIX

The poems in the foregoing pages are derived (as I have already explained) from three separate MS. volumes, and from the author's prose volume, entitled "Christian Ethicks." The bulk of them (ending with "Goodness") are from the folio volume. The remainder--with the exception of the three which are from the volume of "Meditations and Devotions"--are from the prose volume entitled "Centuries of Meditations." I have printed all the poems which I have found in these various sources, with one exception. This is a poem which appears in the folio volume, but which is there crossed through as though marked for suppression.[M] Whether this mark of suppression was made by the author or by another person there are no means of judging; but as the poem in question is, as I think, somewhat below the level of its companions, I have thought it better to reserve it for the appendix than to print it between the poems "Thoughts" I. and II., where it occurs in the MS.

BLISS

I

All Bliss Consists in this, To do as Adam did, And not to know those superficial Toys Which in the Garden once were hid. Those little new-invented things, Cups, saddles, crowns are childish joys, So ribbands are and rings, Which all our happiness destroys.

II

Nor God In His abode, Nor Saints, nor little boys, Nor Angels made them; only foolish men, Grown mad with custom, on those toys, Which more increase their wants, do dote, And when they older are do then Those baubles chiefly note With greedier eyes, more boys tho' men.

To enable the reader to judge whether my hypothesis that the author of "A Serious and Patheticall Contemplation of the Mercies of God" is also the author of the other poems contained in the present volume, is well or ill-founded, I will now print the three poems which appear in the above-mentioned work. They are as follows:

[LIFE'S BLESSEDNESS]

While I, O Lord, exalted by Thy hand Above the skies, in glory seem to stand, The skies being made to serve me, as they do, While I thy Glories in thy Goodness view. To be in Glory higher than the skies Is greater bliss than 'tis in place to rise Above the Stars: More blessed and divine To live and see than like the Sun to shine. O what Profoundness in my Body lies For whom the Earth was made, the Sea, the Skies! So greatly high our human Bodies are That Angels scarcely may with these compare: In all the heights of Glory seated, they Above the Sun in Thine eternal day Are seen to shine; with greater gifts adorned Than Gold with Light or Flesh with Life suborned; Suns are but Servants, Skies beneath their feet; The Stars but Stones; Moons but to serve them meet. Beyond all heights above the World they reign In thy great Throne ordained to remain. All Tropes are Clouds; Truth doth itself excel, Whatever Heights Hyperboles can tell.

[THE RESURRECTION]

Then shall each Limb a spring of Joy be found, And every member with its Glory crown'd: While all the Senses, fill'd with all the Good That ever Ages in them understood Transported are: Containing Worlds of Treasure At one delight with all their Joy and Pleasure, From whence, like Rivers, Joy shall ever flow, Affect the Soul, though in the Body grow, Return again and make the Body shine Like Jesus Christ, while both in one combine. Mysterious Contracts are between the Soul, Which touch the Spirits and by those its Bowl; The Marrow, Bowels, Spirits, melt and move, Dissolving ravish, teach them how to love. He that could bring the Heavens thro' the eye, And make the World within the Fancy lie, By beams of Light that closing meet in one, From all the parts of His celestial Throne, Far more than this in framing Bliss can do, Inflame the Body and the Spirit too: Can make the Soul by Sense to feel and see, And with her Joy the Senses wrap'd to be: Yea, while the Flesh or Body subject lies To those Affections which in Souls arise; All holy Glories from the Soul redound, And in the Body by the Soul abound, Are felt within and ravish ev'ry Sense With all the Godhead's glorious Excellence, Who found the way Himself to dwell within, As if even Flesh were nigh to Him of kin: His Goodness, Wisdom, Power, Love Divine, Make by the Soul convey'd the Body shine, Not like the Sun (that earthly Darkness is) But in the strengths and heights of all this bliss, For God designed thy Body for His sake, A Temple of the Deity to make.

THE WAYS OF WISDOM

"Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace."

These sweeter far than lilies are, No roses may with these compare! How these excel No tongue can tell, Which he that well and truly knows With praise and joy he goes! How great and happy's he that knows his ways To be divine and heavenly Joys: To whom each city is more brave Than walls of pearl and streets which gold doth pave: Whose open eyes Behold the skies; Who loves their wealth and beauty more Than kings love golden ore! Who sees the heavenly ancient ways Of God the Lord with joy and praise, More than the skies With open eyes Doth prize them all; yea, more than gems, And regal diadems; That more esteemeth mountains, as they are, Than if they gold and silver were: To whom the sun more pleasure brings Than crowns and thrones and palaces to kings: That knows his ways To be the joys And way of God--those things who knows With joy and praise he goes!

I do not think it is necessary to spend much time or ink in endeavouring to prove that the author of these three poems must have been also the writer of the other poems contained in this volume. Unless it be contended that no conclusion as to authorship can be drawn from similarity of style, sentiment, and peculiarities of expression, I do not see how it is possible for any one who carefully considers the matter to entertain a reasonable doubt about it. Not even the hypothesis of imitation by one author of the style of another can here be entertained--for no man can imitate what is not known to him.

Every poet has his special topics, his favourite terms of expression, his peculiar vocabulary, and even his pet rhymes, which are bound to appear often in his verse. I think it may be truly said that there is nothing in the three poems taken from "A Serious and Patheticall Contemplation of the Mercies of God" which cannot be paralleled in the other poems contained in this volume. All are characterised by the same fervent piety, the same command of expression and musical diction, the same dwelling upon the ideas that though God is necessary to man, yet man also is necessary to God, and that the body (instead of being, according to the ordinary theological belief, a _corpus vile_ of corruption) is "a spring of Joy" crowned with glory; and the same continual allusions to the great natural phenomena. When to these resemblances we add the many small coincidences of words and phrases which are always recurring in the poems, the evidence of common authorship becomes too strong to be resisted.

Perhaps it may be worth while to quote a few instances of these resemblances out of the many which might be given. In the second stanza of "The Person" we have

Men's hands than angels' wings Are truer wealth even here below.

In "Life's Blessedness" we have

So greatly high our human bodies are That Angels scarcely may with them compare.

In the fifth stanza of "The Estate" we have

The laws of God, the Works he did create, His ancient ways, are His and my Estate.

In "The Ways of Wisdom" we have

Who sees the heavenly ancient ways.

In "Thoughts IV." we have

The very heavens in their sacred worth At once serve us and set his Glory forth.

In "Life's Blessedness" we have

The skies being made to serve me, as they do, While I Thy Glories in Thy Goodness view.

In "The Influx" we have

No soul but stone, no man but clay am I.

In "Life's Blessedness" we have

The stars but stones.

The reader will doubtless have observed that our poet was very fond of using "treasure" and a "pleasure" as rhymes. He seldom omits to bring them in in a poem of any length, and it will be observed that they are introduced in "The Resurrection." Certain defective rhymes (or no rhymes) also occur pretty frequently, as "lay," "joy," "away," "enjoy." In "The Ways of Wisdom" we have "ways" and "joys."

I think I have produced evidence enough to convince the reader of the soundness of my contention: if not, I will undertake to produce a good deal more. It is fortunate, indeed, that "A Serious and Patheticall Contemplation" should have stolen into print (for neither at the time of its publication nor subsequently does it appear to have attracted any attention), since without it we should have had no clue to the authorship of these poems.

* * * * *

Mr. W. T. Brooke has discovered in the British Museum a broadside with the following title, "A Congratulatory Poem on the Right Honourable S^r Orlando Bridgman, Lord Keeper of the Great Seal of England," which, he suggests, may possibly have been written by the author of the poems here printed. But though it is a poem of considerable merit, it has, in my opinion, no correspondence in style with Traherne's poems. A few lines from it, however, will not be altogether out of place here:

Were all your own Rolls searcht scarce should we find That noble seat filled with so fit a mind: So brave a mind as baseness ne'er allays, So great a mind as greatness cannot raise, So just a mind as interest can't seduce, So wise a mind as colours can't abuse, So large a mind as largest Trusts do crave, So calm a mind as Equity should have. High Courtships construed in the present tense, Law's Oracle without perplexed sense, A sober piety in a virtuoso, And an Orlando without Furioso.

TRAHERNE'S "SERIOUS AND PATHETICALL CONTEMPLATION OF THE MERCIES OF GOD"