An Englishe Jme Poem by Nicholas Bacon

Lorde for my slepe and reste this nighte
And for this grace preserueinge mee
In bodye sounde in mynde vprighte,
Honor and prayse I geue to thee,
But not as thinges that worthye bee,
But as the beste that man can doe,
And suche as thou commandeste toe.

And as ohe Lorde the lighte of daye
Dothe teache myne eye my foote to guyde,
Soe graunte the lighte of thy grace maye
Directe my mynde that it not slyde,
Or if I fall or wander wyde,
Graunte grace to rise and not to lye,
Nor yet to take delighte therebye.

And as from slepe to worke I rise
And clothe my bodye agaynste the storme,
Soe mot thy sperit my mynde vprise,
Clotheinge the same bothe euen and morne
With vertue that will not be worne,
But mendes by vse him that it weares,
And thee to serue manns mynde still steares.

And thoughe with harte and hope to haue
Theis giftes ohe Lorde I aske of thee,
Yet of deserte noughte can I craue
But all of grace whiche thou geueste free,
As by thy worde thou haste taughte mee:
Whereto trusteinge as is moste fytte
I mee to thee whollye commytte.