Let The Night Perish, Cursã¨d Be The Morn Poem by Jeremy Taylor

Let the night perish, cursèd be the morn
Wherein 'twas said there is a man-child born!
Let not the Lord regard that day, but shroud
It's fatal glory in some sullen cloud.
May the dark shades of an eternal night
Exclude the least kind beam of dawning light;
Let unknown babes as in the womb they lye,
If it be mention'd, give a groan and dye.
No sounds of joy therein shall charm the ear,
No sun, no moon, no twilight star appear,
But a thick vale of gloomy darkness wear.
Why did I not, when first my mother's womb
Discharg'd me thence, drop down into my tomb?
Then had I been as quiet: and mine eyes
Had slept and seen no sorrow; there the wise
And subtil councillor, the potentate,
Who for themselves built palaces of state,
Lie hush't in silence; there's no midnight cry
Caus'd by oppressive tyranny
Of wicked rulers; there the weary cease
From labour, there the prisoner sleeps in peace,
The rich, the poor, the monarch, and the slave,
Rest undisturb'd, and no distinction have
Within the silent chambers of the grave.