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Henry Vaughan - The Book
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Eternal God! Maker of all
That have lived here since the man`s fall:
The Rock of Ages! in whose shade
They live unseen, when here they fade;

Thou knew`st this paper when it was 
Mere seed, and after that but grass;
Before `twas dressed or spun, and when
Made linen, who did wear it then:
What were their lives, their thoughts, and deeds,
Whether good corn or fruitless weeds.

Thou knew`st this tree when a green shade
Covered it, since a cover made,
And where it flourished, 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 — 
Clothed with this skin which now lies spread
A covering o`er this aged book;
Which makes me wisely weep, and look
On my own dust; mere dust it is,
But not so dry and clean as this.
Thou knew`st and saw`st them all, and though
Now scattered 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 only death and pain,
Give him amongst Thy works a place
Who in them loved and sought Thy face!
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