A Meditation on the burning a torch at noone day.

WHen Sol doth in his flaming throne remaine,
My Blazing torch doth spend it selfe in vaine,
But when the sunne goes downe, and once tis night,
O then how welcome is my torches Light,
Sols radient beames at noone doe so surmount
They make my tapers light of small accompt;
So Lord when thou dost great abundance send
We cannot then so well esteeme a friend,
We slight their helpes: they alwaies seeme most bright
When dire affliction sends a dismall night.