The cordial of his eyes.

Seize, happy mortal, seize the good;
My hand supplies thy sleep and food,
And makes thee truly blest:
With plenteous meals enjoy the day,
In slumbers pass the night away,
And leave to fate the rest." C. B.

Sleep, therefore, as the chief of all earthly blessings, is justly
appropriated to induustry and temperance; the refreshing rest, and the
peaceful night, are the portion only of him who lies down weary with
honest labour, and free from the fumes of indigested luxury; it is the
just doom of laziness and gluttony, to be inactive without ease, and
drowsy without tranquillity.

Sleep has been often mentioned as the image of death[1]; "so like it,"
says Sir Thomas Brown, "that I dare not trust it without my prayers:"
their resemblance is, indeed, apparent and striking; they both, when
they seize the body, leave the soul at liberty: and wise is he that
remembers of both, that they can be safe and happy only by virtue.

[1]
Lovely sleep! thou beautiful image of terrible death,
Be thou my pillow-companion, my angel of rest!
Come, O sleep! for thine are the joys of living and dying:
Life without sorrow, and death with no anguish, no pain.
_From the German of Schmidt_