"YEA, THOUGH I WALK THROUGH THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH, I WILL FEAR NO EVIL:  FOR THOU ART WITH ME; THY ROD AND THY STAFF THEY COMFORT ME."  PSALM 23:4
 
 
A VICTORIAN POEM BY WILLIAM T. SAWARD:
 
 
WHEN GOD GIVES SLEEP
 
When God gives sleep
The hands are folded in a sweet embrace,
And the poor heart is still;
The earlier peace shines in the silent face,
Not all the world could kill;
And the poor soul that struggled with its lot,
Freed from the clogging now,
Lives, where the anguish and the tears are not,
Nor toil-stained, throbbing brow;
Cease then, ye mourners! wherefore do you weep,
When God gives, to His own beloved, sleep?
 
When God gives sleep
The hands are laid across the silent breast;
The labouring oar,
The yoken oxen, and the sword may rest,
To toil no more;
The pillowed earth is a more soothing bed
Than softest down;
And sounder sleep the cold untroubled dead,
Beyond the town;
For hate and strife may tear the world asunder,
And none release;
The storms may rive the mountains with high thunder,
The grave is peace.
The snowdrop and the violet may weep,
They die, there is no death when God gives sleep.
 
When God gives sleep
The hands are clasped as if for evening prayer,
Said silently;
No sounds disturb the still devotions there,
Till, by the sea,
The last wave breaks upon the crumbling land,
And one loud cry
Summon the slumbering dead, where, on the strand.
Earth meets the sky
In one embrace; deep calleth unto deep!
The choirs of Heaven awake from their refreshing sleep.
 
                                                    --W. T. Saward