The Treasury Of Sacred Song

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.