| |
| SLEEP breathes at last from out thee, | |
| My little patient boy; | |
| And balmy rest about thee | |
| Smooths off the day’s annoy. | |
| I sit me down, and think | 5 |
| Of all thy winning ways; | |
| Yet almost wish, with sudden shrink, | |
| That I had less to praise. | |
| |
| Thy sidelong pillowed meekness; | |
| Thy thanks to all that aid; | 10 |
| Thy heart, in pain and weakness, | |
| Of fancied faults afraid; | |
| The little trembling hand | |
| That wipes thy quiet tears,— | |
| These, these are things that may demand | 15 |
| Dread memories for years. | |
| |
| Sorrows I ’ve had, severe ones, | |
| I will not think of now; | |
| And calmly, midst my dear ones, | |
| Have wasted with dry brow; | 20 |
| But when thy fingers press | |
| And pat my stooping head, | |
| I cannot bear the gentleness,— | |
| The tears are in their bed. | |
| |
| Ah, first-born of thy mother, | 25 |
| When life and hope were new; | |
| Kind playmate of thy brother, | |
| Thy sister, father too; | |
| My light, where’er I go; | |
| My bird, when prison-bound; | 30 |
| My hand-in-hand companion—No, | |
| My prayers shall hold thee round. | |
| |
| To say, “He has departed”— | |
| “His voice”—“his face”—is gone, | |
| To feel impatient-hearted, | 35 |
| Yet feel we must bear on,— | |
| Ah, I could not endure | |
| To whisper of such woe, | |
| Unless I felt this sleep insure | |
| That it will not be so. | 40 |
| |
| Yes, still he ’s fixed, and sleeping! | |
| This silence too the while,— | |
| Its very hush and creeping | |
| Seem whispering us a smile; | |
| Something divine and dim | 45 |
| Seems going by one’s ear, | |
| Like parting wings of cherubim, | |
| Who say, “We ’ve finished here.” | |
| |
