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.