Changes - A Nocturnal Cycle

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The night is come, like to the day,
Depart not Thou, great GOD, away.
Let not my sins, black as the night,
Eclipse the lustre of Thy light:
Keep still in my Horizon; for to me
The Sun makes not the day, but Thee.
Thou, Whose nature cannot sleep,
On my temples Centry keep;
Guard me 'gainst those watchful foes,
Whose eyes are open while mine close.
Let no dreams my head infest,
But such as Jacob's temples blest.
While I do rest, my Soul advance;
Make my sleep a holy trance;
That I may, my rest being wrought,
Awake into some holy thought;
And with as active vigour run
My course, as doth the nimble Sun.
Sleep is a death; O make me try,
By sleeping, what it is to die;
And as gently lay my head
On my grave, as now my bed.
However I rest, great GOD, let me
Awake again at last with Thee;
And thus assur'd, behold I lie
Securely, or to awake or die.
These are my drowsie days; in vain
I do not wake to sleep again:
O come that hour, when I shall never
Sleep again, but wake for ever.

God be in my head, and in my understanding;
God be in mine eyes, and in my looking;
God be in my mouth, and in my speaking;
God be in mine heart, and in my thinking;
God be at [my end, and in]1 my departing.

Matthew, Mark and Luke and John,
Bless the bed that I lie on.
Four angels to my bed,
Two to bottom, two to head,
Two to hear me when I pray,
Two to bear my soul away.

God is the branch and I the flower,
Pray God send me a blessed hour.
I go to bed some sleep to take:
The Lord, He knows if I shall wake.
Sleep I ever, sleep I never,
God receive my soul for ever.

When the voices of children are heard on the green 
And laughing is heard on the hill, 
My heart is at rest within my breast 
And everything else is still. 

"Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down 
And the dews of night arise; 
Come, come, leave off play, and let us away 
Till the morning appears in the skies." 

"No, no, let us play, for it is yet day 
And we cannot go to sleep; 
Besides, in the sky the little birds fly 
And the hills are all cover'd with sheep." 

"Well, well, go & play till the light fades away 
And then go home to bed." 
The little ones leaped & shouted & laugh'd 
And all the hills echoed.

Along the dark and silent night,
With my lantern and my light
And the tinkling of my bell,
Thus I walk, and this I tell:
-- Death and dreadfulness call on
To the general session;
To whose dismal bar, we there
All accounts must come to clear:
Scores of sins we've made here many;
Wiped out few, God knows, if any.
Rise, ye debtors, then, and fall
To make payment, while I call:
Ponder this, when I am gone:
-- By the clock 'tis almost One.

O mortal folk, you may behold and see
How I lie here, sometime a mighty knight;
The end of joy and all prosperitee
  Is death at last, thorough his course and might:
  After the day there cometh the dark night,
    For though the daye be never so long,
    At last the bells ringeth to evensong.

Hey nonny no!
Men are fools that wish to die.
Is't not fine to dance and sing
When the bells of death do ring?
Is't not fine to swim in wine,
And turn upon the toe
And sing Hey nonny no,
while the winds blow
and the seas flow?
Hey nonny no!
Hey nonny no!

Wake all the dead ! what ho ! what ho ! 
How soundly sleep they whose pillows lie low ! 
They mind not poor lovers who walk above 
On the decks of the world in storms of love. 
No whisper now nor glance shall pass 
Through wickets or through panes of glass ; 
For our windows and doors are shut and barred. 
Lie close in the church, and in the churchyard. 
In every grave make room, make room ! 
The world's at an end, and we come, we come. 

The state is now love's foe, love's foe ; 
'T has seized on his arms, his quiver and bow ; 
Has pinioned his wings, and fettered his feet, 
Because he made way for lovers to meet. 
But, O sad chance, his judge was old ; 
Hearts cruel grow, when blood grows cold. 
No man being young his process would draw. 
O heavens, that love should be subject to law!
Lovers go woo the dead, the dead !
Lie two in a grave, and to bed, to bed ! 

Like to the lightning from the sky
 . . . . . . . . . .

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The Door of Death is made of gold,
That mortal eyes cannot behold;
But when the mortal eyes are clos'd,
And cold and pale the limbs repos'd,
The soul awakes; and, wond'ring, sees
In her mild hand the golden Keys:
The Grave is Heaven's Golden Gate,
And rich and poor around it wait;
O Shepherdess of England's fold,
Behold this Gate of Pearl and Gold!

To dedicate to England's Queen
The visions that my soul has seen,
And, by her kind permission, bring
What I have borne on solemn wing,
From the vast regions of the Grave,
Before her throne my wings I wave;
Bowing before my Sov'reign's feet,
`The Grave produc'd these blossoms sweet
In mild repose from earthly strife;
The blossoms of Eternal Life!'

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