We see our joyous home,
Where the sapphire waters fall;
The porch, with its lone gloom,
The bright vines on its wall.

The flow'rs, the brooks, and trees,
Again are made our own,
The woodlands rife with bees,
And the curfew's pensive tone.

Peace to the marble brow,
And the ringlets tinged dark,
The heart is sleeping now
In a still and holy ark!

Sleep hath clos'd the soft blue eye,
And unbound the silken tress
Their dreams are of the sky,
And pass'd is watchfulness.

But a sleep they yet shall have,
Sunn'd with no vision's glow;
A sleep within the grave--
When their eyes are quench'd and low!

A glorious rest it is,
To earth's lorn children given,
Pure as the bridal kiss,
To sleep--and wake in heaven!