Lie Down, Frail Body, Here

Lie down

frail bo­dy

here

Earth has no fair­er bed

No gent­ler pil­low to afford

Come

rest thy home-sick head.

Lie down

vile bo­dy! here

This mould is smooth­ly strewn;

No couch of flow­ers more soft­ly spread—

Come

make this grave thine own.

Lie down

with all thy aches

There is no ach­ing here;

How soon shall all thy life-long ills

Forever dis­ap­pear.

Thro’ these well guard­ed gates

No foe can en­trance gain

No sick­ness wastes

nor once in­trudes

The me­mo­ry of pain.

The toss­ings of the night

The fret­tings of the day

All end; and like a cloud of dawn

Melt from thy skies away.

Footsore and worn thou art

Breathless with toil and fight;

How wel­come the long sought rest

Of all this all tran­quil night.

Brief night and qui­et couch

In some star light­ed room

Watched but by one be­lov­èd eye

Whose light dis­pels all gloom.

A sky with­out a cloud

A sea with­out a wave—

These are but sha­dows of thy rest

In this thy peace­ful grave.

Rest for the toil­ing hand

Rest for the anx­ious brow

Rest for the wea­ry

way-worn feet

Rest from all la­bor now.

Rest for the fev­ered brain

Rest for the throb­bing eye;

Through these parched lips of thine no more

Shall pass the moan or sigh.

Soon shall the trump of God

Give out the wel­come sound

That shakes death’s si­lent cham­ber walls

And breaks the turf-sealed ground.

You dwell­ers in the dust

Awake

come forth

and sing;

Sharp has your frost of win­ter been

But bright shall be your spring.

’Twas sown in weak­ness here;

’Twill then be raised in pow­er;

That which was sown an earth­ly seed

Shall rise a heav’n­ly flow­er.