Sleep.

A poem by Marietta Holley

Come, gentle sleep, with the holy night,
Come with the stars and the white moonbeams,
Come with your train of handmaids bright,
Blessed and beautiful dreams.

Bring the exile to his home again,
Let him catch the gleam of its low white wall;
Let his wife cling to his neck and weep,
And his children come at their father's call.

Give to the mother the child she lost,
Laid from her heart to a clay-cold bed;
Let its breath float over her tear-wet cheek,
And her cold heart warm 'neath its bright young head.

Take the sinner's hand and lead him back
To his sinless youth and his mother's knee;
Let him kneel again 'neath her tender look,
And murmur the prayer of his infancy.

Lead the aged into that wondrous clime,
Home of their youth and land of their bliss;
Let them forget in that beautiful world,
The sin and the sorrow of this.

And gently lead my love, my own,
Tenderly clasp her snow-white hand,
Wrap her in garments of soft repose,
And lead her into your mystic land.

Let your fairest handmaids bow at her feet,
Her path o'er your loveliest roses be;
And let all the flowers with their perfumed lips
Whisper of me - of me.

Come, gentle sleep, with the holy night,
Come with the stars and the white moonbeams,
Come with your train of handmaids bright,
Blessed and beautiful dreams.

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