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7.

TO SLEEP.

Fond words have oft been spoken to thee, Sleep!And thou has had thy store of tenderest names;The very sweetest words that fancy framesWhen thankfulness of heart is strong and deep!Dear bosom Child we call thee, that lost steepIn rich reward all suffering; Balm that tamesAll anguish; Saint that evil thoughts and aimsTakest away, and into souls dost creep,Like to a breeze from heaven. Shall I alone;I surely not a man ungently made,Call thee worst Tyrant by which Flesh is crost?Perverse, self-will'd to own and to disown,Mere Slave of them who never for thee pray'd,Still last to come where thou art wanted most!
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