THE MORNING WATCH O joys! Infinite sweetness! With what flowres, And shoots of glory, my soul breakes, and buds! All the long houres Of night, and Rest Through the still shrouds Of sleep, and Clouds, This Dew fell on my Breast; O how it Blouds, And Spirits all my Earth! heark! In what Rings, And Hymning Circulations the quick world Awakes, and sings; And rising winds, And failing springs, Birds, beasts, all things Adore him in their kinds. Thus all is hurl’d In sacred Hymnes, and Order, the great Chime And Symphony of nature. Prayer is The world in tune, A spirit-voyce, And vocall joyes Whose Echo is heav’ns blisse. O let me climbe. When I lye down! The Pious soul by night Is like a clouded starre, whose beames though said To shed their light Under some Cloud Yet are above, And shine, and move Beyond that mistie shroud. So in my Bed That Curtain’d grave, though sleep, like ashes, hide My lamp, and life, both shall in thee abide.