Analysis of To emma abbott

There--let thy hands be folded
   Awhile in sleep's repose;
The patient hands that wearied not,
But earnestly and nobly wrought
     In charity and faith;
   And let thy dear eyes close--
The eyes that looked alway to God,
Nor quailed beneath the chastening rod
       Of sorrow;
Fold thou thy hands and eyes
     For just a little while,
     And with a smile
       Dream of the morrow.

And, O white voiceless flower,
   The dream which thou shalt dream
Should be a glimpse of heavenly things,
For yonder like a seraph sings
     The sweetness of a life
   With faith alway its theme;
While speedeth from those realms above
The messenger of that dear love
       That healeth sorrow.
   So sleep a little while,
     For thou shalt wake and sing
     Before thy King
       When cometh the morrow.