Sleep Poem by John Bowring

Reviving sleep! thy shelt'ring wing
Is o'er the couch of labour spread;
Sweet minister, unearthly thing,
That hovers round the tired one's head.


As calm and cold as mortal clay
When life is fled-earth soundly sleeps,
When evening veils the eye of day,
And darkness rules the ocean deeps.


O, then, Thy spirit, Lord, anew
Enkindles strength in sleeping men;
It falls as falls the evening dew,
And life's sad waste repairs again.


Be nature's gentle slumbers mine,
And lead me gently to the last;
Until I hear Thy voice divine,
'Awake! for death's dark night is past.'