Fifty Years & Other Poems/Sleep
Sleep
O Sleep, thou kindest minister to man, Silent distiller of the balm of rest,How wonderful thy power, when naught else can, To soothe the torn and sorrow-laden breast!When bleeding hearts no comforter can find, When burdened souls droop under weight of woe,When thought is torture to the troubled mind, When grief-relieving tears refuse to flow;'Tis then thou comest on soft-beating wings, And sweet oblivion's peace from them is shed;But ah, the old pain that the waking brings! That lives again so soon as thou art fled!
Man, why should thought of death cause thee to weep;Since death be but an endless, dreamless sleep?