 | Poems and Translations |  |
44
REST AT LAST.
“Yet a little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hand to sleep.”—
Proverbs xxiv. 33.When all joy is cold and dead,
And our youth and smiles are fled;
When our dreams all fade in air,
And hope changeth to despair;
When our heart grows worn and cold,
Ere our weary years be told;
When we, yearning, long for sleep,
And our eyes can only weep;
When we traverse, all in tears,
The drear desert of our years,
Seeking ever some sweet spot
To repose, and find it not;
When we 're weary, faint, and worn,
And our heart is sorely torn;
When the sun's hues linger yet,
And we muse but on suns set;
When we dream, in Spring's glad hours,
But of those beneath her flowers;
When a faded bud is worth
More than fairest one on earth;
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And awake a flitting smile;
When all forms that meet our gaze
Only bring us back past days;
When with fate in vain we cope,
And have naught in life to hope;
When we 'd rest our weary head,
And have naught in death to dread;—
Then, to bury the dead Past,
The sweet slumber comes at last.
No closed eyes can ever weep,
And we bless the little sleep,
And the gentle slumber soft
That we've yearned for, long and oft,
Through the hours' lingering sands.
All earth's sighs are now repressed,
In our worn and weary breast,
By the folding of the hands,
By the folding o'er the breast.
And to peace and calm and rest,
Freed from woes and want and breath,
Float we down the stream of Death.
June 16th, 1865.
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