The Night

*** Revised Common Lectionary *** Lectionary Reading: John 3:1-17 CLASSIC POEM: The Night Henry Vaughan Through that pure Virgin-shrine, That sacred vail drawn o’er thy glorious noon That men might look and live as Glo-worms shine, And face the Moon: Wise Nicodemus saw such light As made him know his God by night. Most blest believer he! Who in that land of darkness and blinde eyes Thy long expected healing wings could see, When thou didst rise, And what can never more be done, Did at mid-night speak with the Sun! O who will tell me, where He found thee at that dead and silent hour! What hallow’d solitary ground did bear So rare a flower, Within whose sacred leafs did lie The fulness of the Deity. No mercy-seat of gold, No dead and dusty Cherub, nor carv’d stone, But his own living works did my Lord hold And lodge alone; Where trees and herbs did watch and peep And wonder, while the Jews did sleep. Dear night! this worlds defeat; The stop to busie fools; cares check and curb; The day of Spirits; my souls calm retreat Which none disturb! Christs progress, and his prayer time; The hours to which high Heaven doth chime. Gods silent, searching flight: When my Lords head is fill’d with dew, and all His locks are wet with the clear drops of night; His still, soft call; His knocking time; The souls dumb watch, When Spirits their fair kindred catch. Were all my loud, evil days Calm and unhaunted as is thy dark Tent, Whose peace but by some Angels wing or voice Is seldom rent; Then I in Heaven all the long year Would keep, and never wander here. But living where the Sun Doth all things wake, and where all mix and tyre Themselves and others, I consent and run To ev’ry myre, And by this worlds ill-guiding light, Erre more then I can do by night. There is in God (some say) A deep, but dazling darkness; As men here Say it is late and dusky, because they See not all clear; O for that night ! where I in him Might live invisible and dim. *** This poem is in the public domain, and may be read in a live-streamed worship service. CONTEMPORARY POEM: Nicodemus Howard Nemerov SNIPPET: … I would not, if I could, be born again To suffer the miseries of the child, The perpetual nearness to tears, The book studied through burning eyes, The particular malady of being always ruled To ends he does not see or understand. … [ READ THE FULL POEM ]