Volume Iii Part 22 (1/2)
For when the morn came dim and sad, And chill with early showers, Her quiet eyelids closed--she had Another morn than ours.
THOMAS HOOD.
THE SLEEP.
”He giveth his beloved sleep.”--PSALM cxxvii. 2.
Of all the thoughts of G.o.d that are Borne inward unto souls afar, Along the Psalmist's music deep, Now tell me if that any is, For gift or grace, surpa.s.sing this-- ”He giveth His beloved, sleep”?
What would we give to our beloved?
The hero's heart, to be unmoved, The poet's star-tuned harp, to sweep, The patriot's voice, to teach and rouse, The monarch's crown, to light the brows?-- He giveth His beloved, sleep.
What do we give to our beloved?
A little faith all undisproved, A little dust to overweep, And bitter memories to make The whole earth blasted for our sake.
He giveth His beloved, sleep.
”Sleep soft, beloved!” we sometimes say, But have no tune to charm away Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep.
But never doleful dream again Shall break the happy slumber when He giveth His beloved, sleep.
O earth, so full of dreary noises!
O men, with wailing in your voices!
O delved gold, the wailers heap!
O strife, O curse, that o'er it fall!
G.o.d strikes a silence through you all, And giveth His beloved, sleep.
His dews drop mutely on the hill; His cloud above it saileth still, Though on its slope men sow and reap.
More softly than the dew is shed, Or cloud is floated overhead, He giveth His beloved, sleep.
Ay, men may wonder while they scan A living, thinking, feeling man Confirmed in such a rest to keep; But angels say, and through the word I think their happy smile is _heard_-- ”He giveth His beloved, sleep.”
For me, my heart that erst did go Most like a tired child at a show, That sees through tears the mummers leap, Would now its wearied vision close, Would childlike on His love repose, Who giveth His beloved, sleep.
And, friends, dear friends,--when it shall be That this low breath is gone from me, And round my bier ye come to weep, Let one, most loving of you all, Say, ”Not a tear must o'er her fall; 'He giveth His beloved, sleep.'”
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.
[Ill.u.s.tration: ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.]
SLEEP.
How many thousand of my poorest subjects Are at this hour asleep! O sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down And steep my senses in forgetfulness?