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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
PSALM 104, by HENRY VAUGHAN Poet Analysis Poet's Biography
First Line: Up, o my soul, and bless the lord. O god
Last Line: Yea, bless thou him for ever!
Alternate Author Name(s): Silurist
First Line: Up, o my soul, and bless the lord. O god
Last Line: Yea, bless thou him for ever!
Alternate Author Name(s): Silurist
Up, O my soul, and bless the Lord. O God,
My God, how great, how very great art thou!
Honour and majesty have their abode
With thee, and crown thy brow.
Thou cloth'st thyself with light, as with a robe,
And the high, glorious heav'ns thy mighty hand
Doth spread like curtains round about this globe
Of air, and sea, and land.
The beams of thy bright chambers thou dost lay
In the deep waters, which no eye can find;
The clouds thy chariots are, and thy pathway
The wings of the swift wind.
In thy celestial, gladsome messages
Dispatched to holy souls, sick with desire
And love of thee, each willing angel is
Thy minister in fire.
Thy arm unmovable forever laid
And founded the firm earth; then with the deep
As with a veil thou hidst it, thy floods played
Above the mountains steep.
At thy rebuke they fled, at the known voice
Of their Lord's thunder they retired apace:
Some up the mountains passed by secret ways,
Some downwards to their place.
For thou to them a bound hast set, a bound
Which (though but sand) keeps in and curbs whole seas:
There all their fury, foam and hideous sound
Must languish and decrease.
And as thy care bounds these, so thy rich love
Doth broach the earth, and lesser brooks lets forth,
Which run from hills to valleys, and improve
Their pleasure and their worth.
These to the beasts of every field give drink;
There the wild asses swallow the cool spring:
And birds amongst the branches on their brink
Their dwellings have and sing.
Thou from thy upper springs above, from those
Chambers of rain, where Heav'n's large bottles lie,
Dost water the parched hills, whose breaches close
Healed by the showers from high.
Grass for the cattle, and herbs for man's use
Thou mak'st to grow; these (blest by thee) the earth
Brings forth, with wine, oil, bread: all which infuse
To man's heart strength and mirth.
Thou giv'st the trees their greenness, ev'n to those
Cedars in Lebanon, in whose thick boughs
The birds their nests build; though the stork doth choose
The fir-trees for her house.
To the wild goats the high hills serve for folds,
The rocks give conies a retiring place:
Above them the cool moon her known course holds,
And the sun runs his race.
Thou makest darkness, and then comes the night;
In whose thick shades and silence each wild beast
Creeps forth, and pinched for food, with scent and sight
Hunts in an eager quest.
The lion's whelps impatient of delay
Roar in the covert of the woods, and seek
Their meat from thee, who dost appoint the prey
And feed'st them all the week.
This past, the sun shines on the earth, and they
Retire into their dens; man goes abroad
Unto his work, and at the close of day
Returns home with his load.
O Lord my God, how many and how rare
Are thy great works! In wisdom hast thou made
Them all, and this the earth, and every blade
Of grass we tread, declare.
So doth the deep and wide sea, wherein are
Innumerable, creeping things both small
And great: there ships go, and the shipmen's fear,
The comely spacious whale.
These all upon thee wait, that thou mayst feed
Them in due season: what thou giv'st, they take;
Thy bounteous open hand helps them at need,
And plenteous meals they make.
When thou dost hide thy face (thy face which keeps
All things in being) they consume and mourn:
When thou withdraw'st their breath, their vigour sleeps,
And they to dust return.
Thou send'st thy spirit forth, and they revive,
The frozen earth's dead face thou dost renew.
Thus thou thy glory through the world dost drive,
And to thy works art true.
Thine eyes behold the earth, and the whole stage
Is moved and trembles, the hills melt and smoke
With thy least touch: lightnings and winds that rage
At thy rebuke are broke.
Therefore as long as thou wilt give me breath
I will in songs to thy great name employ
That gift of thine, and to my day of death
Thou shalt be all my joy.
I'll spice my thoughts with thee, and from thy word
Gather true comforts; but the wicked liver
Shall be consumed. O my soul, bless thy Lord!
Yea, bless thou him for ever!