Classic Poem

'Tis eve. And from the eastern height
Gray Twilight leads the spangled Night;
From hill and vale the welcome gloom
Now sends the heavy laborers home,
And Silence shuts the door.
At length o'er nature Sleep resumes her reign,
And weary hearts are wrung by grief and pain
No more.

Closed is the sightless eye; the ear
Doth no melodious music hear;
Pleasure and Passion drop the rein;
The tongue is mute, the busy brain
Forgets its labored lore.
Yet, though sweet Slumber wears a death-like face,
The bed is but a transient resting-place —
No more.

So, when our day of life is done,
Gray Twilight's shades come glooming on;
And, as we hasten to the close,
The earthly toils, and fears, and woes,
That troubled us before,
All hie them homeward to the grave, and there
They vex the wearied heart with grief and care
No more.

Closed is the sightless eye; the ear
No warbling strain shall ever hear;
Pleasure and Passion drop the rein;
The tongue is mute, the busy brain
Here loses all its lore:
Yet, though pale Death is stamped upon the face,
The grave is but a transient resting-place —
No more.

Then sleep on now, and take your rest,
Ye saints whom J ESUS ' love hath blest.
Dawn on the eastern mountains stands!
At sunrise ye shall burst your bands,
On glorious wing shall soar,
And sing your morning song before the Throne,
Where Night and Sleep shall cease, and Death be known