What Hath Night To Do

It Were A Journey Like The Path To Heaven, To Help You Find Them.

Who Aspires Must Down As Low As High He Soar'd.

For The Air Of Youth, Hopeful And Cheerful, In Thy Blood Will Reign A Melancholy Damp Of Cold And Dry To Weigh Thy Spirits Down, And Last Consume The Balm Of Life.

The Gay Motes That People The Sunbeams.

So Dear To Heaven Is Saintly Chastity, That, When A Soul Is Found Sincerely So, A Thousand Liveried Angels Lacky Her, Driving Far Off Each Thing Of Sin And Guilt.