Classic Poem

“He giveth His beloved sleep.”
The haughty sow the wind:
The storm they sow; the tempest reap;
But rest they cannot find.

In sleep itself their furrowed brows
That care-worn mark retain;
Avenger of the guilt it shows
The curse and brand of Cain!

Rest is of God. He doth not sleep;
But while His children rest
His hand outstretched and still doth keep
O'er earth, their shadowed nest.

His holy angels chaunt around,
To chase dark dreams away,
That slumbers innocent and sound
May leave serene the day.