| |
| | “He giveth his belovèd sleep.” |
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OF all the thoughts of God that are | |
| Borne inward unto souls afar, | |
| Among the Psalmist’s music deep, | |
| Now tell me if that any is, | |
| For gift or grace, surpassing this,— | 5 |
| “He giveth his belovèd 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,— | 10 |
| The monarch’s crown, to light the brows? | |
| “He giveth his belovèd sleep.” | |
| |
| What do we give to our beloved? | |
| A little faith, all undisproved,— | |
| A little dust to overweep, | 15 |
| And bitter memories, to make | |
| The whole earth blasted for our sake, | |
| “He giveth his belovèd sleep.” | |
| |
| “Sleep soft, beloved!” we sometimes say, | |
| But have no tune to charm away | 20 |
| Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep; | |
| But never doleful dream again | |
| Shall break the happy slumber when | |
| “He giveth his belovèd sleep.” | |
| |
| O earth, so full of dreary noise! | 25 |
| O men, with wailing in your voice! | |
| O delvèd gold the wailers heap! | |
| O strife, O curse, that o’er it fall! | |
| God strikes a silence through you all, | |
| “He giveth his belovèd sleep.” | 30 |
| |
| 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, | 35 |
| “He giveth his belovèd 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, | 40 |
| Would childlike on his love repose | |
| Who “giveth his belovèd sleep.” | |
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