THE ROAMER
Book III
"O Sleep, the kindest helper of the soul,
Who, when night comes, dost draw more nigh than night,
And when thou goest, bringest back the day!
O first, sweet silence 'twixt the solemn prayers
Of eve and morn, how many peaceful hours
My hands in thine were folded, when a child!
And thou wast dearer with each heavy year,
And tenderer for the sorrow come, more soft
My head didst pillow, gavest my soul release!"
So rose the Roamer's morning orison;
And never more refreshed from thee he turned
To greet the golden East in summers gone,
Than when, dim Sleep, thou gavest his spirit back
To the dark border; trembling he awoke,
And dews of gratitude o'erflowed his eyes
For Sleep, the helper—kindest helper, thou!
Thou bearest half the weight of all men's lives;
The load thy hand unloosens at the end;
Not without thee was that far journey made.
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