The starry cope Of heaven.
Still paying, still to owe. Eternal woe!
He left it in thy power, ordaind thy will By nature free, not over-rul'd by Fate Inextricable, or strict necessity.
Come, pensive nun, devout and pure, sober steadfast, and demure, all in a robe of darkest grain, flowing with majestic train.
Morn, Wak'd by the circling hours, with rosy hand Unbarr'd the gates of light.
It was the winter wild, While the Heaven-born child, All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies.