VERSES set Forth by HENRY FALCONER BELLMAN And Presented to His Worthy Masters in the Ward of FARRINGTON WITHIN  

WHEN Sun from Sky is fled, and done't appear,  
And Midnight-Silence doth possess each Ear;  
When it doth freeze and snow, and cold Winds blow,  
My Service in the dark I to you show.  
Walking my Rounds, and Ringing of my Bell,  
To see your Houses are in Safety well:  
I go through Storms of Hail, and Frost, and Rain,  
And still your Humble Servant will remain.   

For Michaelmass-Day.  
MASTERS, you know, this is not the first time,  
That I have unto you expressed my Rhyme;  
Good-Morrow, Sirs; you see I do not fail:  
Upon this day St. Michael did prevail  
Over the Devil, only with this Speech,  
The Lord rebuke thee, Satan; I beseech,  
It is to teach us, that whilst here we live,  
Bad Language to our Foes we should not give.   

For the Evening.  
SLEEP of the Blessed makes Kings, and Kings of Men,  
Whom Cares still fly, and Rest embraceth them,  
Of Mischiefs, the sole solace, and best Friend  
To give them due repose, and Comfort lend.  
Who putting on the shape of Death, dost give,  
Only by that, all Creatures means to live.  
Sleep, Thou hast but two Sisters; and they are,  
Death and Oblivion, both which shorten care.   

MAsters, your Bellman humble Thanks Presents  
Unto you all, for your Benevolence,  
Of late received by him, from your free hand;  
The Lord reward you, who hath all Command  
With the best Blessings, in this Vale of strife,  
Crown you hereafter with eternal life:  
And so till after Candlemass I'll Ring my Bell,  
In hopes that these rude Lines will please you well.   

ARISE from Sin, Awake from Sleep,  
The Earth doth mourn, the Heavens weep;  
The Winds and Seas distempered have been,  
And all's by Reason of Man's Sin:  
Wherefore Arise, lay Sleep aside,  
And call on God to be your Guide;  
From raging Sword, and Arrows flight,  
And from the Terrors of the Night;  
From Fire's flame, from sin and sorrow,  
God bless you all, and so Good-Morrow.   

For Christmass-day.  
TRUE Son of God, Elder than Time, that hast  
Thy Birth but now, yet from Beginning waste  
Author of Light, and Light before all other;  
O thou that wast the Parent of thy Mother:  
Whose Word was made Flesh, and constrained to dwell  
In the straight Prison of a Virgin's Cell:  
All this the King of Glory did, and more,  
To make us Kings, that were but Slaves before.   

For the Morning.  
ASsist me, Muses all, that I may praise  
The glorious Morning, and her glittering Rays,  
Through all the spacious Earth, for to thy grace  
The Morning-Sun steals Kisses from thy Face.  
All sleepy Mankind to their Sports thou ' wakest,  
And sleepy Slumbers from their Eyelids takest,  
Thy Beauty to behold, or hear thy Voice,  
Serpents and Men, Beasts, Birds, and all rejoice.   

On DEATH.  
DEATH is but one short Sleep, and Life's no more,  
But one short Watch, an Houres-time before.  
Let us endeavour, whilst to us there's light,  
And see our Journey be not left till Night;  
That when the Moment comes, which others dread,  
We may with Courage climb our dying bed;  
And so from thence to th' Skies we may ascend,  
To meet our Saviour CHRIST at this World's END.