He Giveth His Beloved Sleep
Of all the thoughts of God that are
Born inward unto souls afar,
Along the psalmist’s music deep,
Now tell me if there any is
For gift or grace surpassing this:
“He giveth his beloved sleep.” “Sleep soft, beloved,” we sometimes say,
Yet have no tune to charm away
Sad dreams that through the eyelids
creep;
Yet never doleful dream again
Shall break the happy slumber when
“He giveth his beloved sleep.” His dew drops mutely on the hill,
His cloud above it saileth still,
Though on its slopes men toil and reap.
More softly than the dew is shed,
Or cloud is floated overhead,
“He giveth his beloved sleep.” And friends!—dear friends!—when it
shall be
That this low breath is gone from me,
And round my bier ye come to weep,
Let one, most loving of you all,
Say: “Not a tear must o’er her fall”—
“He giveth his beloved sleep!”
—Selected.