O gentle sleep! the gracious gift and blest,
Of God's own sending;
O sacred sleep! dear foretaste of that rest
Which knows no ending;
Sweet promise of that far-off Paradise
Of calm release,
Where weary ones may lean on Jesus' breast,
And close their eyes,
And be at peace.
Earth "presses down;" the hearts that would ascend
Droop, faint and weary;
So distant seems the lifelong journey's end,
The way so dreary;
Each day's fierce struggle tires us out, as though
We could no more,
Then comes thine handmaid, Sleep, our griefs to tend.
With balm for woe,
And strength in store.
We lay us down in peace, — thy touch divine
Our eyelids closing;
Darkness, — thy secret place, — becomes the shrine
Of our reposing;
Gently we breathe our souls into thy care,
So glad to be
One day mpre near to that home-rest of thine.
Which we may share
With saints and thee.
So night by night we linger at thy feet,
Until the morning;
Glimpses of heaven, bright visions pure and sweet,
Our dreams adorning;
And if thy voice, kind Lord, we seem to hear,
That word most blest
For willing souls, with sympathy replete,
Falls on our ear,
"Sleep, — take your rest!"