Thou whose nature cannot sleep, On my temples sentry keep; Guard me ’gainst those watchful foes, Whose eyes are open while mine close. Let no dreams my head infest, But such as Jacob’s temples blest. While I do rest, my soul advance: Make my sleep a holy trance; That I may, my rest being wrought, Awake into some holy thought, And with as active vigour run My course as doth the nimble sun. Sleep is a death—O make me try By sleeping, what it is to die! And as gently lay my head On my grave, as now my bed. Howe’er I rest, great God, let me Awake again at last with Thee. And thus assured, behold I lie Securely, or to wake or die. These are my drowsy days; in vain I do not wake to sleep again: O come that hour, when I shall never Sleep again, but wake for ever! Another great name is that of John Donne, Dean of St. Paul’s, and friend of James I, who wrote one of the truest and most affecting hymns of that or any other century. If its form prevents its being sung in modern congregations, it is at least one of those spiritual songs which we should preserve for the hour of private devotion. A HYMN TO GOD THE FATHER Wilt Thou forgive that sin where I begun, Which was my sin, though it were done before? Wilt Thou forgive that sin, through which I run, And do run still, though still I do deplore? When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done, For I have more. Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I have won Others to sin, and made my sin their door? Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I did shun A year or two, but wallowed in a score? When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done, For I have more. I have a sin of fear, that when I’ve spun My last thread, I shall perish on the shore; But swear by Thyself, that at my death Thy Son Shall shine as He shines now, and heretofore; And, having done that, Thou hast done; I fear no more. ‘I have the rather mentioned this hymn,’ says Izaak Walton, ‘for that he caused it to be set to a most grave and solemn tune, and to be often sung to the organ by the choristers of St. Paul’s Church in his own hearing; especially at the evening service, and at his return from his customary devotions in that place, did occasionally say to a friend: “The words of this hymn have restored to me the same thoughts of joy that possessed my soul in my sickness when I composed it. And, O, the power of Church music! that harmony added to this hymn has raised the affections of my heart and quickened my graces of zeal and gratitude; and I observe that I always return from paying this public duty of prayer and praise to God, with an unexpressible tranquillity of mind, and a willingness to leave the world.”’ Ben Jonson’s lovely Christmas hymn is to be found in a few hymn-books to-day. Is it too much to hope that it may yet become a familiar carol of the Nativity?