O COME, soft rest of cares! come, Night! br    Come, naked Virtue's only tire, br The reaped harvest of the light br    Bound up in sheaves of sacred fire. br    Love calls to war: br    Sighs his alarms, br    Lips his swords are, br    The field his arms. br br Come, Night, and lay thy velvet hand br    On glorious Day's outfacing face; br And all thy crowned flames command br    For torches to our nuptial grace. br    Love calls to war: br    Sighs his alarms, br    Lips his swords are, br    The field his arms.