 | The Literary Works of James Smetham |  |
THE REST
Servant, cease thy labour;
Thou hast borne thy burden;
Thou hast done thy task!
In the violent morning,
When the blast was bitter,
And thy fellows sleeping,
Thou wast out and doing,
With thy stubborn ploughshare
Riving up the hillside—
Get thee home and rest!
Thou hast borne thy burden;
Thou hast done thy task!
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When the blast was bitter,
And thy fellows sleeping,
Thou wast out and doing,
With thy stubborn ploughshare
Riving up the hillside—
Get thee home and rest!
In the sweltering noonday,
When thy mates were lying
By the purling runnel
In the pleasant shadow,
Thou, with arm wide sweeping,
And with trenchant sickle,
Filledst thy broad bosom
With the tossing corn.
When thy mates were lying
By the purling runnel
In the pleasant shadow,
Thou, with arm wide sweeping,
And with trenchant sickle,
Filledst thy broad bosom
With the tossing corn.
While from highest heaven
To the western sea-rim
Slowly wheeled the great sun,
White, and fierce, and cloudless,
Every blazing moment,
Eager and unresting,
Didst thou clasp the harvest—
Haste thee now to rest!
To the western sea-rim
Slowly wheeled the great sun,
White, and fierce, and cloudless,
Every blazing moment,
Eager and unresting,
Didst thou clasp the harvest—
Haste thee now to rest!
While the west grew ruddy,
And the birds were chanting
Softly, softly, “Cease ye,
Cease your toil, ye mortals,”
Stook on stook behind thee
Didst thou leave to ripen;
But thy arm is drooping,
And thine eye is heavy—
Thou shalt work no longer:
Get thee home and slumber,
Get thee to thy rest!
And the birds were chanting
Softly, softly, “Cease ye,
Cease your toil, ye mortals,”
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Didst thou leave to ripen;
But thy arm is drooping,
And thine eye is heavy—
Thou shalt work no longer:
Get thee home and slumber,
Get thee to thy rest!
Cross the lengthening shadows
Of the peaceful fir-groves,
Cross the quiet churchyard,
Where the mossy hillocks,
With their folded daisies
And their sleeping lambkins,
All say, “Requiescat,”
Lay thee down beside them,
Till the bells chime to thee,
Simple bells that tell thee,
“Rest thee, rest thee, rest thee,”
Till they bring thee rest!
Of the peaceful fir-groves,
Cross the quiet churchyard,
Where the mossy hillocks,
With their folded daisies
And their sleeping lambkins,
All say, “Requiescat,”
Lay thee down beside them,
Till the bells chime to thee,
Simple bells that tell thee,
“Rest thee, rest thee, rest thee,”
Till they bring thee rest!
While the huge moon rises,
And the large white planets
Wheel and glow above thee,
Till the cottage tapers,
Swallowed by the darkness,
Leave no human symbol
Underneath the sky.
And the large white planets
Wheel and glow above thee,
Till the cottage tapers,
Swallowed by the darkness,
Leave no human symbol
Underneath the sky.
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Sleep a dreamless slumber,
For thine eye shall never
See the gates of morning
Lift their awful shadows,
Nor the gold and amber
Of the heavenly dayspring
Sparkle on the heather
Of the purple moorland.
For thine eye shall never
See the gates of morning
Lift their awful shadows,
Nor the gold and amber
Of the heavenly dayspring
Sparkle on the heather
Of the purple moorland.
Thou shalt wake no more!
August 1855.
| The Literary Works of James Smetham | |