Night hath no wings to him that cannot sleep; <br />And Time seems then not for to fly, but creep; <br />Slowly her chariot drives, as if that she <br />Had broke her wheel, or crack'd her axletree. <br />Just so it is with me, who list'ning, pray <br />The winds to blow the tedious night away, <br />That I might see the cheerful peeping day. <br />Sick is my heart; O Saviour! do Thou please <br />To make my bed soft in my sicknesses; <br />Lighten my candle, so that I beneath <br />Sleep not for ever in the vaults of death; <br />Let me thy voice betimes i' th' morning hear; <br />Call, and I'll come; say Thou the when and where: <br />Draw me but first, and after Thee I'll run, <br />And make no one stop till my race be done.<br /><br />Robert Herrick<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-his-sweet-saviour/
