T. Browne Thou Whose nature cannot sleep, On my temples sentry 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 me to 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; Oh! make me try, By sleeping, what it is to die And as gently lay my head On my grave, as now my bed. Howe'er I rest, great GOD, let me Awake again at last with Thee. And thus assured, behold I lie Securely, or to wake or die. |