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Sleeplessness

Unwearied God, before whose face

The night is clear as day,

Whilst we, poor worms, o’er life’s scant race

Now creep, and now delay,

We with death’s foretaste alternate

Our labour’s dint and sorrow’s weight,

Save in that fever-troubled state

When pain or care has sway.

Dread Lord! Thy glory, watchfulness,

Is but disease in man;

We to our cost our bounds transgress

In Thy eternal plan:

Pride grasps the powers by Thee display’d,

Yet ne’er the rebel effort made

But fell beneath the sudden shade

Of nature’s withering ban.