By John Donne.

And since this life our nonage is,
And wee in Wardship to thine Angels be,
Native in heavens faire Palaces,
Where we shall be but deninzen'd by thee,
As th'earth conceiving by the sunne,
Yields faire diversities
Yet never knowes which course of that light doth run,
So let mee study, that mine actions bee
Worthy their sight, though blinde in how they see.