The Morning-Watch

.   O joys! infinite sweetness! with what flow'rs

    And shoots of glory my soul breaks and buds!

            All the long hours

            Of night, and rest,

            Through the still shrouds

            Of sleep, and clouds,

        This dew fell on my breast;

        Oh, how it bloods

    And spirits all my earth! Hark! In what rings

   And hymning circulations the quick world

           Awakes and sings;

           The rising winds

           And falling springs,

           Birds, beasts, all things

       Adore him in their kinds.

           Thus all is hurl'd

   In sacred hymns and order, the great chime

   And symphony of nature. Prayer is

           The world in tune,

           A spirit voice,

           And vocal joys

       Whose echo is heav'n's bliss.

           O let me climb

   When I lie down! The pious soul by night

   Is like a clouded star whose beams, though said

           To shed their light

           Under some cloud,

           Yet are above,

           And shine and move

       Beyond that misty shroud.

           So in my bed,

   That curtain'd grave, though sleep, like ashes, hide

   My lamp and life, both shall in thee abide.