SLEEP.
I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep: for Thou, Lord, only makest me dwell in safety.—Psalm iv. 8.
He giveth His beloved sleep.—Psalm cxxvii. 2.
Come sleep, O sleep, the certain knot peace,
The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe,
The poor man’s wealth, the prisoner’s release,
Th’ indifferent judge between the high and low.
Sir Philip Sidney.
Sleep that knits up the revelled sleeve of care,
The death of each day’s life, sore labour’s bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course,
Chief nourisher in life’s feast.
Shakspere.
Why rather sleep liest thou in smoky cribs
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,
And hushed with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber,
Than in the perfumed chambers of the great
Under the canopies of costly state,
And lulled with sounds of sweetest melody?
*****
Canst thou, O partial sleep! give thy repose
To the wet seaboy in an hour so rude;
And in the calmest and most stillest night
With all appliances and means to boot
Deny it to a king?
Shakspere.
Sleep on, my love! in thy cold bed
Never to be disquieted!
My last ‘Good night!’—thou wilt not wake
Till I thy fate shall overtake—
Till age, or grief, or sickness, must
Marry my body to the dust
It so much loves—and fill the room
My heart keeps empty in thy tomb.
Stay for me there! I will not fail
To meet thee in that hollow vale:
And think not much of my delay,
I am already on the way,
And follow thee with all the speed
Desire can make, or sorrows breed.
Each minute is a short degree,
And every hour a step towards thee.
At night when I betake to rest,
Next morn I rise nearer my West
Of life, almost by eight hours’ sail,
Than when sleep breath’d his drowsy gale.
Bishop King.
How blessed was that sleep
The sinless Saviour knew!
In vain the storm-winds blew,
Till He awoke to others’ woes,
And hushed the billows to repose.
How beautiful is sleep!
The sleep that christians know:
Ye mourners! cease your woe.
While soft upon his Saviour’s breast,
The righteous sinks to endless rest.
Mrs. M’Cartee.
Good night!
Slumber till the morning light!
Slumber till the dawn of day
Brings its troubles with its ray!
Sleep without or fear or fright!
Our Father wakes! Good night!
Korner.
Sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peace!
Sleep, holy spirit, blessed soul,
While the stars burn, the moons increase,
And the great ages onward roll.
Sleep till the end, true soul and sweet,
Nothing comes to thee new or strange.
Sleep, full of rest from head to feet;
Lie still, dry dust, secure of change.
Tennyson.
O Thou, who in the garden’s shade
Didst wake Thy weary ones again,
Who slumbered at that fearful hour;
Forgetful of Thy pain;
Bend o’er us now, as over them,
And set our sleep-bound spirits free;
Nor leave us slumbering in the watch
Our souls should keep with Thee!
J. G. Whittier.