The stars, that nature hung in heaven, and filled their lamps with everlasting oil, give due light to the misled and lonely traveller.
But see! theVirgin blessed Hath laid her Babe to rest. Time is our tedious song should here have ending.
Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth.
Let us go forth and resolutely dare with sweat of brow to toil our little day.
Better to reign in hell than serve in heav'n.
Now morn, her rosy steps in th' eastern clime Advancing, sow'd the earth with orient pearl, When Adam wak'd, so custom'd; for his sleep Was aery light, from pure digestion bred.