Never weather beaten sail more willing bent to shore
Never tired pilgrim’s limbs affected slumber more
Than my weary sprite now rise out of my weary breast
O fly quickly, O fly quickly, O fly quickly
Sweetest one, and take my soul to rest

Ever blooming are the joys of heav’n’s high paradise
Cold age deaf not there our ears, nor vapour dims our eyes
Glory there the sun out shines whose beam the blessed only see
O fly quickly, O fly quickly, O fly quickly
Dearest one, and raise my sprite to thee.

Ian Ground