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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409320" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Thou That Know'st for Whom I Mourn</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">THOU that know'st for whom I mourn, <br>And why these tears appear, <br>That keep'st account till he return <br>Of all his dust left here ; <br>As easily Thou might'st prevent, <br>As now produce, these tears, <br>And add unto that day he went <br>A fair supply of years. <br>But 'twas my sin that forc'd Thy hand <br>To cull this primrose out, <br>That by Thy early choice forewarn'd <br>My soul might look about. <br>O what a vanity is man ! <br>How like the eye's quick wink <br>His cottage fails ; whose narrow span <br>Begins even at the brink ! <br>Nine months thy hands are fashioning us, <br>And many years—alas !— <br>Ere we can lisp, or ought discuss <br>Concerning Thee, must pass ; <br>Yet have I known Thy slightest things, <br>A feather, or a shell, <br>A stick, or rod, which some chance brings <br>The best of us excel ; <br>Yea, I have known these shreds outlast <br>A fair-compacted frame, <br>And for one twenty we have past <br>Almost outlive our name. <br>Thus hast Thou plac'd in man's outside <br>Death to the common eye, <br>That heaven within him might abide, <br>And close eternity ; <br>Hence youth, and folly, man's first shame, <br>Are put unto the slaughter, <br>And serious thoughts begin to tame <br>The wise man's madness, laughter. <br>Dull, wretched worms ! that would not keep <br>Within our first fair bed, <br>But out of Paradise must creep <br>For ev'ry foot to tread ! <br>Yet had our pilgrimage been free, <br>And smooth without a thorn, <br>Pleasures had foil'd eternity, <br>And tares had chok'd the corn. <br>Thus by the cross salvation runs ; <br>Affliction is a mother <br>Whose painful throes yield many sons, <br>Each fairer than the other. <br>A silent tear can pierce Thy throne, <br>When loud joys want a wing ; <br>And sweeter airs stream from a groan, <br>Than any arted string. <br>Thus, Lord, I see my gain is great, <br>My loss but little to it ; <br>Yet something more I must entreat, <br>And only Thou canst do it. <br>O let me—like him—know my end ! <br>And be as glad to find it : <br>And whatsoe'er Thou shalt commend, <br>Still let Thy servant mind it ! <br>Then make my soul white as his own, <br>My faith as pure and steady, <br>And deck me, Lord, with the same crown <br>Thou hast crown'd him already !</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Vaughan">Henry Vaughan</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409320" data-title="Thou That Know'st for Whom I Mourn de Henry Vaughan" data-description="THOU that know'st for whom I mourn, 
And why these tears appear, 
That keep'st account till he return 
Of all his dust left here ; 
As easily Thou might'st prevent, 
As now produce, these tears, 
And add unto that day he went 
A fair supply of yea..."></div>
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