Never weather-beaten sail

Never weather-beaten sail more willing bent to shore.Never tired pilgrim's limbs affected slumber more,Than my wearied sprite now longs to fly out of my troubled breast:O come quickly, sweetest Lord, and take my soul to rest.

Ever blooming are the joys of Heaven's high Paradise.Cold age deafs not there our ears nor vapour dims our eyes:Glory there the sun outshines whose beams the blessed only see:O come quickly, glorious Lord, and raise my sprite to thee!