O joys! Infinite sweetness! with what flowers
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;
    O 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 heaven'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.