Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SILENCE, by THOMAS TRAHERNE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

SILENCE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: A quiet silent person may possess
Last Line: Like god himself, and heaven and earth was there.
Subject(s): Silence


A quiet silent person may possess
All that is great or high in blessedness.
The inward work is the supreme: for all
The other were occasion'd by the Fall.
A man, that seemeth idle to the view
Of others, may the greatest business do.
Those acts which Adam in his innocence
Performed, carry all the excellence.
These outward busy acts he knew not, were
But meaner matters, of a lower sphere.
Building of churches, giving to the poor,
In dust and ashes lying on the floor,
Administ'ring of justice, preaching peace,
Ploughing and toiling for a forc'd increase,
With visiting the sick, or governing
The rude and ignorant: this was a thing
As then unknown. For neither ignorance
Nor poverty, nor sickness did advance
Their banner in the world, till sin came in:
These therefore were occasion'd all by sin.
The first and only work he had to do,
Was in himself to feel his bliss, to view
His sacred treasures, to admire, rejoice,
Sing praises with a sweet and heavenly voice,
See, prize, give thanks within, and love,
Which is the high and only work, above
Them all. And this at first was mine; these were
My exercises of the highest sphere.
To see, approve, take pleasure, and rejoice
Within, is better than an empty voice:
No melody in words can equal that;
The sweetest organ, lute, or harp is flat
And dull, compar'd thereto. And O that still
I might admire my Father's love and skill!
This is to honour, worship, and adore,
This is to love Him: nay it is far more.
It is to enjoy Him, and to imitate
The life and glory of His high estate.
'Tis to receive with holy reverence,
To understand His gifts, and with a sense
Of pure devotion, and humility,
To prize His works, His love to magnify.
O happy ignorance of other things,
Which made me present with the King of Kings!
And like Him too! All spirit, life, and power,
All love and joy, in His eternal bower.
A world of innocence as then was mine,
In which the joys of Paradise did shine,
And while I was not here I was in Heaven,
Not resting one, but every day in seven.
Forever minding with a lively sense
The universe in all its excellence.
No other thoughts did intervene, to cloy,
Divert, extinguish, or eclipse my joy.
No other customs, new-found wants, or dreams
Invented here polluted my pure streams.
No aloes or dregs, no Wormwood star
Was seen to fall into the sea from far.
No rotten soul did, like an apple, near
My soul approach. There's no contagion here.
An unperceived donor gave all pleasures,
There nothing was but I, and all my treasures.
In that fair world one only was the friend,
One golden stream, one spring, one only end.
There only one did sacrifice and sing
To only one eternal heavenly King.
The union was so strait between them two,
That all was either's which my soul could view.
His gifts, and my possessions, both our treasures;
He mine, and I the ocean of His pleasures.
He was an ocean of delights from whom
The living springs and golden streams did come:
My bosom was an ocean into which
They all did run. And me they did enrich.
A vast and infinite capacity
Did make my bosom like the Deity,
In whose mysterious and celestial mind
All ages and all worlds together shin'd.
Who tho He nothing said did always reign,
And in Himself eternity contain.
The world was more in me than I in it.
The King of Glory in my soul did sit.
And to Himself in me He always gave
All that He takes delight to see me have.
For so my spirit was an endless sphere,
Like God Himself, and Heaven and earth was there.





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