I LAY me down to sleep, With little care Whether my waking find Me here, or there. A bowing, burdened head That only asks to rest, Unquestioning, upon A loving breast. My good right-hand forgets Its cunning now; To march the weary march I know not how. I am not eager, bold, Nor strong,—all that is past; I am ready not to do, At last, at last. My half-day's work is done, And this is all my part,— I give a patient God My patient heart; And grasp his banner still, Though all the blue be dim; These stripes as well as stars Lead after him. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPISTLE TO JAMES SMITH by ROBERT BURNS THE FAIRIES OF THE CALDON LOW; A MIDSUMMER LEGEND by MARY HOWITT NOVEMBER BLUE by ALICE MEYNELL WRITTEN IN THE BEGINNING OF MEZERAY'S HISTORY OF FRANCE by MATTHEW PRIOR CASTLES by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH IN THE FOREST by ELINOR PETERSON ALLEN ON MISS HELEN FAUCIT'S JULIET by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN |