There—let thy hands be folded
Awhile in sleep’s repose;
The patient hands that wearied not,
But earnestly and nobly wrought
In charity and faith;
And let thy dear eyes close—
The eyes that looked alway to God,
Nor quailed beneath the chastening rod
Of sorrow;
Fold thou thy hands and eyes
For just a little while,
And with a smile
Dream of the morrow.
And, O white voiceless flower,
The dream which thou shalt dream
Should be a glimpse of heavenly things,
For yonder like a seraph sings
The sweetness of a life
With faith alway its theme;
While speedeth from those realms above
The messenger of that dear love
That healeth sorrow.
So sleep a little while,
For thou shalt wake and sing
Before thy King
When cometh the morrow.
(Eugene Field)
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Based on Topics: God Poems, Life Poems, Sadness Poems, Dreams Poems, Flowers Poems, Sleep Poems, Smiling Poems, Belief & Faith Poems, Charity Poems, Medicine & Medical PoemsBased on Keywords: there-, quailed, chastening, speedeth, close-, healeth