Long nights are little to him liefWho lieth sorrowful of heart;His sleep is great unrest or greater grief,With fearsome dreams and other such mischief.Even thus I now feel sorrow’s smart.Who will the meaning to me impartOf this my dream wherein I lay?Meseemed from hell-pit I did startAnd heavenwards was borne away.There many white doves I met in the way,The which my bonds struck with their wings.O merciful God, what see I? Stay!To Thine high grace have I won for aye?Ah yea, ’tis true; there be my ringsBeside me lying. King of kings,What cure art Thou for all misease!No thanks suffice Thee for to pleaseIn any stound.O man, in whom all sin is found,Hereby may ye ensample take;And to His worth that knows no boundLet everlasting laud and praise resound,Even such as your faint voice may wake:Praise ye the Lord in His temple for the Lord His sake,
Long nights are little to him liefWho lieth sorrowful of heart;His sleep is great unrest or greater grief,With fearsome dreams and other such mischief.Even thus I now feel sorrow’s smart.Who will the meaning to me impartOf this my dream wherein I lay?Meseemed from hell-pit I did startAnd heavenwards was borne away.There many white doves I met in the way,The which my bonds struck with their wings.O merciful God, what see I? Stay!To Thine high grace have I won for aye?Ah yea, ’tis true; there be my ringsBeside me lying. King of kings,What cure art Thou for all misease!No thanks suffice Thee for to pleaseIn any stound.O man, in whom all sin is found,Hereby may ye ensample take;And to His worth that knows no boundLet everlasting laud and praise resound,Even such as your faint voice may wake:Praise ye the Lord in His temple for the Lord His sake,
Long nights are little to him liefWho lieth sorrowful of heart;His sleep is great unrest or greater grief,With fearsome dreams and other such mischief.Even thus I now feel sorrow’s smart.Who will the meaning to me impartOf this my dream wherein I lay?Meseemed from hell-pit I did startAnd heavenwards was borne away.There many white doves I met in the way,The which my bonds struck with their wings.O merciful God, what see I? Stay!To Thine high grace have I won for aye?Ah yea, ’tis true; there be my ringsBeside me lying. King of kings,What cure art Thou for all misease!No thanks suffice Thee for to pleaseIn any stound.O man, in whom all sin is found,Hereby may ye ensample take;And to His worth that knows no boundLet everlasting laud and praise resound,Even such as your faint voice may wake:Praise ye the Lord in His temple for the Lord His sake,
Long nights are little to him lief
Who lieth sorrowful of heart;
His sleep is great unrest or greater grief,
With fearsome dreams and other such mischief.
Even thus I now feel sorrow’s smart.
Who will the meaning to me impart
Of this my dream wherein I lay?
Meseemed from hell-pit I did start
And heavenwards was borne away.
There many white doves I met in the way,
The which my bonds struck with their wings.
O merciful God, what see I? Stay!
To Thine high grace have I won for aye?
Ah yea, ’tis true; there be my rings
Beside me lying. King of kings,
What cure art Thou for all misease!
No thanks suffice Thee for to please
In any stound.
O man, in whom all sin is found,
Hereby may ye ensample take;
And to His worth that knows no bound
Let everlasting laud and praise resound,
Even such as your faint voice may wake:
Praise ye the Lord in His temple for the Lord His sake,