The lazy hours move slow

The lazy hours move slow,
The minutes stay;
Old Time with leaden feet doth go,
And his light wings hath cast away.
The slow-pac'd spheres above
Have sure releas'd
Their guardians, and without help move,
Whilst that the very angels rest.

The number'd sands that slide
Through this small glass,
And into minutes Time divide,
Too slow each other do displace;
The tedious wheels of light
No faster chime,
Than that dull shade which waits on night:
For Expectation outruns Time.

How long, Lord, must I stay?
How long dwell here?
O free me from this loathèd clay!
Let me no more these fetters wear!
With far more joy
Shall I resign my breath,
For, to my griev'd soul, not to die
Is every minute a new death.