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Henry Vaughan - The Pursuit
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LORD ! what a busy, restless thing 
                   Hast Thou made man ! 
        Each day and hour he is on wing, 
                   Rests not a span ; 
        Then having lost the sun and light, 
                   By clouds surpris`d, 
        He keeps a commerce in the night 
                   With air disguis`d. 
        Hadst Thou given to this active dust 
                   A state untir`d, 
        The lost son had not left the husk, 
                   Nor home desir`d. 
        That was Thy secret, and it is 
                   Thy mercy too ; 
        For when all fails to bring to bliss, 
                   Then this must do. 
Ah, Lord ! and what a purchase will that be, 
To take us sick, that sound would not take Thee !
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