He Giveth his Beloved Sleep.
As to the grave-yard oft I hie,
This thought doth o'er my spirit creep:
Though here the forms of loved ones lie,
He giveth his beloved sleep, Brightly o'erhead the moon doth shine,
And glowing stars their vigils keep,
All seem to say—no more repine,
He giveth his beloved sleep. For e'er beneath the vaulted sky,
Earth's clods will o'er my dear ones heap,
Yet still these words check every sigh,
He giveth his beloved sleep. Naught shall disturb their sweet repose,
Though o'er the sky dark clouds may sweep,
Through summer's heat, and winter's snows,
He giveth his beloved sleep. The storms may lower, the earth may quake,
Forked lightnings o'er these graves may leap,
No thunder can their slumbers shake,
He giveth his beloved sleep. At my beloved's grave I kneel,
And in my loneliness I weep,
Yet here 'tis joy to know and feel,
He giveth his beloved sleep. If by their side I too should rest,
May those I love this solace keep,
Blest be the sleeping, ever blest,—
He giveth his beloved sleep.