Be higher gifts, a-reckon'd right,
Than all the goold the darksome claÿ
Can ever yield to zunny daÿ:
But then the aïr is roun' our heads,
Abroad by day, or on our beds;
Where land do gi'e us room to bide,
Or seas do spread vor ships to ride;
An' He do zend his waters free,
Vrom clouds to lands, vrom lands to sea:
An' mornèn light do blush an' glow,