XXXV.
When nights of weariness do come to me,
They are appointed by my sov’reign friend,
To cure me of this world’s idolatry,
And thus to Heaven my aspirations send,
And with my tears sweet expectations blend.
So when I lie and long for morning’s dawn,
And vainly wish the painful night would end,
And sadly cry, with many a plaintive moan,
‘O, when shall I arise, and this sad night be gone?’—