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A Christians nightly Care.
WHen thou hast spent the longsom day,
in pleasure and delight,
And after toile, and wearie way,
does seek thy rest at night,
Into thy pain and pleasure past,
eke this in labour yet:
Ere sleep close up thine eyes too fast,
do not thy God forget.
But search within thy secret thoghts,
what deeds did thee he fall:
And if thou find a misse in ought,
to God for mercie call,
But if thou find nothing amisse,
that thou canst call to minde:
Yet evermore remember this,
there is the more behinde:
And look how well soever it be,
that thou hast spent this 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 sleepy sinfull eye,
will venter for to wink,
Before thy wilfull will may try,
how far thy soul may sink:
Beware and walk, or else thy bed
which soft and smooth is made:
Shall heap more evil upon thy head,
then stroak of enemies blade.
But if thy pain procure thine ease,
in bed as thou dostly,
I'm sure it will not God displease,
to sing this soberly.
I see that sleep is lent me here,
to ease my wearie bones,
As death ••t length will once appear,
to ease my grievous groanes.
My daily sports with bellie fed,
would cause my sleepy eye,
To sleep so sound in quiet bed,
whereby my soul might die:
The stretching arms, the ganting breath,
that in my bed I use:
Are portraicts of the pangs of death,
when life shall me refuse:
And as my bed each sundry part,
in shadows doth resemble:
Then sundry shapes of death, whose dart
will make my heart to tremble:
My bed it selfe is like the grave,
my sheets, the winding sheet:
My cloathes, the moulds which I must have
to cover me most meet.
The hungry flaes, that lowp most fresh
to worms I can compare,
Which greedily will eat my flesh,
and leave my bones right bare:
The waking Cock that airly crowes,
to put the night away,
Puts me to minde the Trump that blowes
before the latter day,
Then as I rise us lustily,
when sluggish sleep is past,
So hope I to rise joyfullie,
to judgement at the last.
Thus will I wake, thus will I sleep,
thus will I hope to rise.
Thus will I neither wail nor weep,
but sing in holy guise.
My bones shall in this bed remain,
my soul in God shall trust:
By whom I hope to rise again
from death and earthly dust,
All laud and praise be to the Lord,
and also to his Sonne
And likewise to the holy Ghost,
and so my song is done.