Peace

Henry Vaughan (1621–1695)

MY soul, there is a country

Afar beyond the stars,

Where stands a wingèd sentry,

All skilful in the wars.

There, above noise and danger,

Sweet peace sits crowned with smiles,

And One born in a manger

Commands the beauteous files.

He is thy gracious friend,

And (O my soul awake!)

Did in pure love descend,

To die here for thy sake.

If thou canst get but thither,

There grows the flower of peace—

The rose that cannot wither—

Thy fortress, and thy ease.

Leave, then, thy foolish ranges;

For none can thee secure,

But one who never changes—

Thy God, thy life, thy cure.