Poems (Eaton)/Song of the Heart-Sick

by Marcia Jane Eaton

SONG OF THE HEART-SICK.

FOR rest the weary cry,
 Rest for the heart that's breaking,
Sleep for the tearful eye,
 The sleep that knows no waking.

For this my spirit longs—
 Longs for that dreamless sleeping,
Where, countless forms among,
 There comes no voice of weeping.

Oh, who could well endure
 This world of toil and sorrow,
Were not the night full sure
 Which brings the great to-morrow?

Let none around my bed
 Lament when I am dying—
No tear-drop be there shed,
 No sound of woe or sighing.

But sing for joy aloud—
 Joy, that a weary mortal,
Disburdened of his load,
 Enters Death's darkened portal.

Joy, that the cheerless earth
 No longer chains the spirit;
Joy, that through heavenly birth
 We heavenly rest inherit.

Joy, that the soul no more
 Is exiled, tempest-driven—
But all its wanderings o'er,
 Turns to its native Heaven.