POOR pain-worn mortal, dost thou weep? Awhile thy troubled patience keep. Night cometh surely. Thou shalt sleep. Take up thy burden. Is the day Too long for thy lost courage? Nay: Night will o'ertake thee by the way. Thou shalt not hear; thou shalt not see; But better than death will come to thee, For, living, thou shalt cease to be. Better than death; for none hath told Death's consequence. And death may hold Undreamed-of terrors manifold. Death may be gain, or may be woe. Sleep hath no may-be. Sleep we know. It is, it was, and shall be so. No law, no conscience doth it keep Within its unimpassioned deep. Nor time, nor space, nor sin hath Sleep. To sleep is to unlive; to be As thou hadst never been; to free Thyself from all that maketh thee; Nothing but nothingness to know; To be unborn without a throe— Uncreate at a pangless blow. Then ye who fear, and ye who weep, A few short hours your patience keep. God must be good. For God made Sleep. |