My child, ah, my child; thou art weary to-night,
Thy spirit is sad, and dim is the light;
Thou wouldst call me back from the echoless shore
To the trials of life, to thy heart as of yore;
Thou longest again for my fond loving care,
For my kiss on thy cheek, for my hand on thy hair;
But angels around thee their loving watch keep,
And angels, my darling, will rock thee to sleep.
“Backward?” Nay, onward, ye swift rolling years!
Gird on thy armor, keep back thy tears;
Count not thy trials nor efforts in vain,
They’ll bring thee the light of thy childhood again.
Thou shouldst not weary, my child, by the way,
But watch for the light of that brighter day;
Not tired of “Sowing for others to reap,”
For angels, my darling, will rock thee to sleep.
Tired, my child, of the “base, the untrue!”
I have tasted the cup they have given to you;
I’ve felt the deep sorrow in the living green
Of a low mossy grave by the silvery stream.
But the dear mother I then sought for in vain
Is an angel presence and with me again;
And in the still night, from the silence deep,
Come the bright angels to rock me to sleep.
Nearer thee now than in days that are flown,
Purer the love-light encircling thy home;
Far more enduring the watch for tonight
Than ever earth worship away from the light;
Soon the dark shadows will linger no more.
Nor come to thy call from the opening door;
But know thou, my child, that the angels watch keep,
And soon, very soon, they’ll rock thee to sleep.
They’ll sing thee to sleep with a soothing song;
And, waking, thou’lt be with a heavenly throng;
And thy life, with its toil and its tears and pain,
Thou wilt then see has not been in vain.
Thou wilt meet those in bliss whom on earth thou didst love,
And whom thou hast taught of the “Mansions above.”
“Never hereafter to suffer or weep,”
The angels, my darling, will rock thee to sleep.