On sleep, that seemed a mother to my soul,
In trustfulness as quiet as a child’s.
Hast thou no need of quiet, of a sleep
That stretches out its wings and shrouds thee close,
Healing thee of all wounds, and wards the day
Off from thine eyelids? There is peace in God,
If we might find him; but the way is far
And difficult of travel for our feet,
Leading through all the sounding ways of life
And silent ways of death, through whose domain