God strikes a silence through you all,

He giveth His beloved sleep.

His dews drop mutely on the hill;

His cloud above it saileth still,

Though on its slope men sow and reap.

More softly than the dew is shed,

Or cloud is floated overhead,

He giveth His beloved sleep.

Ay, men may wonder while they scan

A living, thinking, feeling man,

Confirmed in such a rest to keep;

But angels say, and through the word

I think their happy smile is heard,—

‘He giveth His beloved sleep.’

For me, my heart that erst did go

Most like a tired child at a show,

That sees through tears the mummers leap,

Would now its wearied vision close,

Would childlike on His love repose,

Who giveth His beloved sleep.

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