In our unreason and unrest,
How little know we what is best!
How little can explore the deep
Whence emanates our weal and woe!
But this we feel, and this we know,
'God giveth His beloved sleep.'
He, while we ramble far about
In realms of darkness and of doubt,
Doth His eternal counsels keep;
Watches our ways, supplies our needs,
Strengthens the weak, the wanderer leads,
And 'giveth His beloved sleep!'
But gifts there are which, though pursued
With passion by the multitude,
Who idly sow, and blindly reap;
Rank, fortune, fame, not these-not these-
Are God's supreme benignities:
'He giveth His beloved sleep!'
His own belovèd,-they are not
Of princely pomp or lofty lot,-
The gay, the vain, the proud, who sweep
The noisy paths of life along;
To some serener joys belong-
'He giveth His beloved sleep!'
Sleep, sweetest dowry! gift divine
To thirsting souls, to hearts that pine,
To world-o'erwearied eyes that weep;
To these He brings a blest release,
Prepares a bed of endless peace,
And 'giveth His beloved sleep!'