Never weather-beaten saile more willing bent to shore
Never weary pilgrims' limbs affected slumber more
Than my weary sprite now longs to fly out of my troubled breast
Oh come quickly Oh come quickly Oh come quickly Glorious Lord
And take my soule to rest
Oh come quickly Oh come quickly Oh come quickly Glorious Lord
And take my soule to rest
Ever blooming are the joyes 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
Oh come quickly Oh come quickly Oh come quickly Glorious Lord
And raise my sprite to thee
Oh come quickly Oh come quickly Oh come quickly Glorious Lord
And raise my sprite to thee
