Never weather-beaten sail more willing bent to shore.
Never tired pilgrim`s limbs affected slumber more
Than my wearied sprite now longs to fly out of my troubled breast
O come quickly sweetest Lord and take my soul to rest.

Ever blooming are the joys of Heaven`s high Paradise.
Cold age deafs not there our ears nor vapour dims our eyes
Glory there the sun outshines whose beams the blessed only see
O come quickly glorious Lord and raise my sprite to thee!