Unto which joys for to attain, God grant us all His grace, And send us, after worldly pain, In heaven to have a place, When we may still enjoy that light, Which never shall decay: Lord, for thy mercy lend us might, To see that joyful day.
When thou hast spent the ling'ring day In pleasure and delight, Or after toil and weary way, Dost seek to rest at night; Unto thy pains or pleasures past, Add this one labour yet, Ere sleep close up thine eyes too fast, Do not thy God forget,
But search within thy secret thoughts, What deeds did thee befall, And if thou find amiss in aught, To God for mercy call. Yea, though thou findest nought amiss Which thou canst call to mind, Yet evermore remember this, There is the more behind:
And think how well soe'er it be That thou hast spent the day, It came of God, and not of thee, So to direct thy way. Thus if thou try thy daily deeds, And pleasure in this pain, Thy life shall cleanse thy corn from weeds, And thine shall be the gain:
But if thy sinful, sluggish eye, Will venture for to wink, Before thy wading will may try How far thy soul may sink, Beware and wake,[1] for else thy bed, Which soft and smooth is made, May heap more harm upon thy head Than blows of en'my's blade.
Thus if this pain procure thine ease, In bed as thou dost lie, Perhaps it shall not God displease, To sing thus soberly: 'I see that sleep is lent me here, To ease my weary bones, As death at last shall eke appear, To ease my grievous groans.
'My daily sports, my paunch full fed, Have caused my drowsy eye, As careless life, in quiet led, Might cause my soul to die: The stretching arms, the yawning breath, Which I to bedward use, Are patterns of the pangs of death, When life will me refuse;
'And of my bed each sundry part, In shadows, doth resemble The sundry shapes of death, whose dart Shall make my flesh to tremble. My bed it safe is, like the grave, My sheets the winding-sheet, My clothes the mould which I must have, To cover me most meet.
'The hungry fleas, which frisk so fresh, To worms I can compare, Which greedily shall gnaw my flesh, And leave the bones full bare: The waking cock that early crows, To wear the night away, Puts in my mind the trump that blows Before the latter day.