The Minor Poems of Joseph Beaumont ... Edited from the autograph manuscript with introduction and notes by Eloise Robinson |
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Bedtime
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 | The Minor Poems of Joseph Beaumont |  |
35
Bedtime
And now ye Day wch in ye Morne was thine,
Poor Heart, is gone, & can returne no more:
Bury'd in this dark Ev'n it goes before,
And tells Me yt ye next Night may be mine.
Poor Heart, is gone, & can returne no more:
Bury'd in this dark Ev'n it goes before,
And tells Me yt ye next Night may be mine.
Nay why not this? A surer thing is Death
By far then Sleep: That nightly drowsy Mist,
Which climbs into thy Braine to give Thee Rest,
May by ye way obstruct thy feeble Breath.
By far then Sleep: That nightly drowsy Mist,
Which climbs into thy Braine to give Thee Rest,
May by ye way obstruct thy feeble Breath.
The Day is gone; & well, if onely gone,
Is it not lost? Cast up thy score, & know.
Ar't so much neerer Heavn, as Thou art to
Thy Death; or did thy Life without Thee run?
Is it not lost? Cast up thy score, & know.
Ar't so much neerer Heavn, as Thou art to
Thy Death; or did thy Life without Thee run?
Alas it ran, & for me would not stay,
Who waited on my fruitlesse Vanities.
I might have travl'd far since I did rise,
In praying & in studying hard to-day.
Who waited on my fruitlesse Vanities.
I might have travl'd far since I did rise,
In praying & in studying hard to-day.
Great Lord of Life & Time, reprieve Me still,
Whom My owne Sentence hath condemn'd; That I
May learne to live my Life before I die,
And teach my owne, to follow Thy Sweet Will.
Whom My owne Sentence hath condemn'd; That I
May learne to live my Life before I die,
And teach my owne, to follow Thy Sweet Will.
| The Minor Poems of Joseph Beaumont | |