 | The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury |  |
323
DREAMS.
“So he giveth his beloved sleep.”
Psalm cxxvii.
Psalm cxxvii.
He giveth his beloved sleep;” O blest
The boon that stills the fevered pulse of pain,
Shedding refreshing dews o'er heart and brain,
And to the sorrow stricken bringing rest.
The boon that stills the fevered pulse of pain,
Shedding refreshing dews o'er heart and brain,
And to the sorrow stricken bringing rest.
“He giveth his beloved sleep;” how vain
Were all earth's blessings if bereft of this!
How would we faint e'en 'mid continuous bliss,
Could we no moment of repose attain!
Were all earth's blessings if bereft of this!
How would we faint e'en 'mid continuous bliss,
Could we no moment of repose attain!
He giveth sleep, but ah! he giveth more;
When the worn frame in peaceful slumber lies,
The spirit soars beneath enchanted skies,
And finds youth's fountain on a brighter shore.
When the worn frame in peaceful slumber lies,
The spirit soars beneath enchanted skies,
And finds youth's fountain on a brighter shore.
From angel pinions come the sunny gleams
That make the world of sleep a world of light;
Day brings its sins and sorrows, but the night
Still wooes us heavenward through the land of Dreams.
That make the world of sleep a world of light;
Day brings its sins and sorrows, but the night
Still wooes us heavenward through the land of Dreams.
| The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury | |