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.