It's after nine. The time for prayer,
The time for sleep, draw quickly near.
And though the drizzle-drops still fall,
I do not feel displeased at all.
The whispery lisp outside my screen
Of shadowy leaves no longer green
Answers the soft and slushy strain
Of tires that drive upon the rain.
Nettled by several petty sins
As customary rest begins,
May my soul be, till dawn come round,
In night's deep absolution drowned.
Tomorrow let me face the day
Eager to work and ready to play.
Let beak of bird and mouth of me
Exalt the Blessed Trinity.
When sunlight starts to wake and warm
Our peccant vale, let me perform
Fresh mercies; let me gladly labour
To praise my God and love my neighbour.