The Sleep Poem by Gladys Brown Prince

The sleep of the saints is like a dream
So often felt at man's extreme
For when his soul has been redeemed
He has no need to face the screen

When man's work on earth is done
And he must face life's setting sun
He knows the battle he has won
Was fought through life without a gun

To rest a sleep in Christ is sweet
For no more will he walk the street
Of this dark world so full of defeat
He can be sure the Saviour he'll meet

The saints of God don't die but sleep
For to Jesus they gave their lives to keep
And however close death tries to creep
The saints will never any more weep.


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