⁠Sleep here in peace!
To earth's kind bosom do we tearful take thee;
No mortal sound again from rest shall wake thee;
No fever-thirst, no grief that needs assuaging,
No tempest-burst, above thy head loud-raging.
⁠Sleep here in peace!

⁠Sleep here in peace!
No more thou'lt know the sun's glad morning shining,
No more the glory of the day's declining;
No more the night that stoops serene above thee,
Watching thy rest, like tender eyes that love thee.
⁠Sleep here in peace!

⁠Sleep here in peace!
Unknown to thee the spring will come with blessing,
The turf above thee in soft verdure dressing;
Unknown will come the autumn rich and mellow,
Sprinkling thy couch with foliage golden-yellow.
⁠Sleep here in peace!

⁠Sleep here in peace!
This is earth's rest for all her broken-hearted,
Where she has garnered up our dear departed;
The prattling babe, the wife, the old man hoary,
The tired of human life, the crowned with glory.
⁠Sleep here in peace!

⁠Sleep here in peace!
This is the gate for thee to walks immortal;
This is the entrance to the pearly portal;
The pathway trod by saints and sages olden,
Whose feet now walk Jerusalem the golden!
⁠Sleep here in peace!

⁠Sleep here in peace!
For not on earth shall be man's rest eternal,
Faith's morn shall come! Each setting sun diurnal,
Each human sleeping, and each human waking,
Hastens the day that shall on earth be breaking.
⁠Sleep here in peace!

⁠Sleep here in peace!
Faith's morn shall come when he, our Lord and Maker,
Shall claim his own that slumber in God's acre;
When he who once for man Death's anguish tasted
Shall show Death's gloomy realm despoiled and wasted.
⁠Sleep here in peace!

Blossoms were on the apple-trees;
⁠The birds were humming in the air;
Nature concerted harmonies
⁠To rob the world of care;
Down by the meadow stream, we two
⁠Saw the white clouds their shadow cast
Along the distant mountains blue,
⁠And dream-like as the past.

We two! Ah, that was years ago;
⁠We thought the two would pass away,
And that but one the years would show;
⁠We thought the gods would play
Wild songs of melody divine,
⁠To make the future bright and fair;
And that the sun of joy would shine
⁠All times and everywhere.

Just as a million souls have thought!
⁠There came a day when tears were shed;
And one the world's mad struggle sought,
⁠And one pined to the dead;
He longed for fame, that kept in sight
⁠Yet ever seemed to miss his grasp;
And she lost all life's hope and light,
⁠Striving his hand to clasp.

Well, it was years ago, I said;
⁠The stream is there; the blossoms flush
The trees with glory; she is dead.
⁠The bees — they do not hush
Their humming as they seek the sweet;
⁠I wonder, though, if we two may,
As one, in heaven's home love and meet,
⁠And find a perfect day.

Prayer is the world-plant's purpose, the bright flower,
The ultimate meaning of the stem and leaves;
The spire of the church; and it receives
Such lightening calm as comforts, not aggrieves,
⁠And with it brings the fructifying shower.

⁠Prayer is the hand that catcheth hold on peace:
The living heart of good and nobleness,
Whose pulses are the measure of the stress
Wherewith He us doth — we do him — possess;
⁠When these do fail, our very lives decrease.

⁠Who uses prayer, a friend shall never miss;
If he should slip, a timely staff and kind
Placed in his grasp by hands unseen shall find;
Sometimes upon his forehead a soft kiss;
⁠And arms cast round him gently from behind.