Classic Poem

Calmly resting from thy toil
On this lonely spot;
Sleeping, dreaming, happy saint,
Earth and time forgot;
On this rocky waste thou liest,—
Thine the blessed lot!
Soaring dreamer, on thee shine
Rays of love and joy divine,—
What a dream-land now is thine!

Who would not sleep on such a bed,
With stony pillow for his head,
If they might dream with thee,
Whose glad dreaming is no seeming,
Nor whose sleeping ends in weeping,
And whose waking is no breaking
Of the bright reality.

Nearer to thy God in sleep,
Tasting fellowship more deep,
Entering heaven in glorious dreams,
Drinking there of living streams,
Meeting angel-friends above,
Greeting them in peace and love,
Hearing songs unheard on earth,
Songs of everlasting mirth;
Who that dream would seek to break,
Who from such a sleep would wake?