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...SONNET: TO HIS LUTE by WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN THE INDIAN WEED by RALPH ERSKINE THE INNER VISION by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH ELEGY FOR A DEAD KING by AL-KUTANDI A PRELUDE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH WINGS AT DAWN by JOSEPH AUSLANDER |