Dear Sleep, thou art my mercifullest friend.
When, tired of all, nightly I come to thee
Thou art so patient and so good to me.
How gently do thy faithful hands extend
The old sweet welcome, motherly, and mend
My broken toys of hope, while at thy knee
I quite forget the hurtful things to be.
And when I feel thee touch my brow and bend
To kiss mine eyes, I love to put my hand
Into thine own — to feel that thou art near —
To nestle closely to thy peaceful breast
And hear thy lullaby about that land
Sung of so softly, where there is no tear
And where the weary are for aye at rest.