Poems (Curwen)/Asleep

by Annie Isabel Curwen

Asleep.

They tell me thou art dead, and yet
  I cannot weep.
Thou wast so tired, can I regret
  That thou dost sleep?

They speak of thee in solemn tones
  With bated breath:
Thou who art with the blessed ones,
  Who know no death.

They only see thy lifeless clay;
  I see thy face
On which the light of a new day
  Sheds a new grace.

They only see dumb lips—
  I hear Thy voice again
Saying, "There is no sorrow here,
  No loss, no pain."

Thy life was lone, thy path was steep;
  Shall we repine
That God has given the weary sleep
  That heav'n is thine?

I cannot weep, friend, when thou art
  At rest for aye;
For thou hast seen the night depart,
  Hast welcomed day.

Rather do I rejoice to hear
  The end has come;
For thou hast left thy crosses here
  For peace and home.