Poems (Curwen)/Asleep
For works with similar titles, see Asleep.
Asleep.
They tell me thou art dead, and yet I cannot weep. Thou wast so tired, can I regret That thou dost sleep?
They speak of thee in solemn tones With bated breath: Thou who art with the blessed ones, Who know no death.
They only see thy lifeless clay; I see thy face On which the light of a new day Sheds a new grace.
They only see dumb lips— I hear Thy voice again Saying, "There is no sorrow here, No loss, no pain."
Thy life was lone, thy path was steep; Shall we repine That God has given the weary sleep That heav'n is thine?
I cannot weep, friend, when thou art At rest for aye; For thou hast seen the night depart, Hast welcomed day.
Rather do I rejoice to hear The end has come; For thou hast left thy crosses here For peace and home.