Classic Poem

The midnight hour has passed—upon my eyes
Press the soft hands of kind, caressing Sleep!
Unhappy they, compelled to wake and weep,
When storm and darkness both pervade the skies,
And sound its solace to the heart denies!
Sweet Heaven! have mercy on the mourner now;
Let hope's bright pictures in his mind arise,
And soft oblivion shade his throbbing brow!
And thou, oh Sleep! steal in with silent tread,
With lulling odors fill the saddest room,
Draw close thy curtain round the hardest bed,
With thy light wand dispel the deepest gloom,
And, Pity's handmaid as thou art, bestow
On pain thy balm, thy antidote on wo!