As weary pilgrim, now at rest

As weary pilgrim, now at rest,

Hugs with delight his silent nest

His wasted limbes, now lye full soft

That myrie steps, haue troden oft

Blesses himself, to think vpon

his dangers past, and travailes done

The burning sun no more shall heat

Nor stormy raines, on him shall beat.

The bryars and thornes no more shall scratch

nor hungry wolues at him shall catch

He erring pathes no more shall tread

nor wild fruits eate, in stead of bread,

for waters cold he doth not long

for thirst no more shall parch his tongue

No rugged stones his feet shall gaule

nor stumps nor rocks cause him to fall

All cares and feares, he bids farwell

and meanes in safity now to dwell.

A pilgrim I, on earth, perplext

wth sinns wth cares and sorrows vext

By age and paines brought to decay

and my Clay house mouldring away

Oh how I long to be at rest

and soare on high among the blest.

This body shall in silence sleep

Mine eyes no more shall ever weep

No fainting fits shall me assaile

nor grinding paines my body fraile

Wth cares and fears ne'r cumbred be

Nor losses know, nor sorrowes see

What tho my flesh shall there consume

it is the bed Christ did perfume

And when a few yeares shall be gone

this mortall shall be cloth'd vpon

A Corrupt Carcasse downe it lyes

a glorious body it shall rise

In weaknes and dishonour sowne

in power 'tis rais'd by Christ alone

Then soule and body shall vnite

and of their maker haue the sight

Such lasting ioyes shall there behold

as eare ne'r heard nor tongue e'er told

Lord make me ready for that day

then Come deare bridgrome Come away.