Death, and darkness get you packing, Nothing now to man is lacking, All your triumphs now are ended, And what Adam marred, is mended.

Man is the shuttle, to whose winding quest And passage through these looms God ordered motion, but ordained no rest.

Bright shadows of true rest! some shoots of bliss; Heaven once a week; The next world's gladness prepossest in this; A day to seek; Eternity in time; the steps by which We climb above all ages: lamps that light Man through his heap of dark days; and the rich And full redemption of the whole week's flight.

Mornings are mysteries; the first world's youth, Man's resurrection, and the future's bud Shroud in their births.