WHEN I am dead, O let it be, Dear Lord! for blessed rest in Thee! Then, though my ear had never known The rapture of a loving tone, Nor tender kisses prest my brow When heart to heart gave holiest vow, Nor fame's bewildering music stole Like a sweet fever through my soul, — I shall lie down as kings do lie, In royal state and majesty; Nor cedar need, nor purple fold, Nor sculptured stone, nor fretted gold, But find my silent chamber there Than fairest couch of earth more fair, For Thou, the King of kings, wilt spread The pillow for my weary head. And whether, where I rest alone, Come foes to scorn or friends to moan, I shall not heed them, — hid in joy Nor friend can give nor foe alloy; But peaceful sleep, as children slumber Whose mother's thoughts the minutes number, For Thou, the Lord, with love divine Wilt watch beside that grave of mine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 100 by OMAR KHAYYAM SING-SONG; A NURSERY RHYME BOOK: 93 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI HELIADES: ZEUS, BRAZEN THUNDER-HURLER by AESCHYLUS THE BOTTOM DRAWER by AMELIA EDITH HUDDLESTON BARR HER CREED by SARAH KNOWLES BOLTON RIZPAH by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT SONNET ON HEARING A THRUSH SING IN JANUARY by ROBERT BURNS |