Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Guardian Angels

Guardian Angels.

Gently, gently fall sweet sleepO'er thine eyelids, soft and deep,Gently as the breath of flowersIn the bright noon's honeyed hours.Gently as the dews of heavenOn the wild-rose at the even.

Thou art pure, immortal one;Oh! be pure till life is done.We would take thee in thy bloomFrom the dim walls of the tomb;We would bear thee, blest and fair,Where thy home and kindred are.

Pray, then—strive to enter inThrough the cold world's woe and sin;In each glad and gloomy hour,In thy weakness, in thy power.Pray—and we will pray for thee,Strive—and we will strengthen thee.

Ay, on the land and on the seas,In the tempest and the breeze,In the solemn hush of night,In the loud moon's burst of light,Strive! oh strive!—around, above thee,We will lead and we will love thee.