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.

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Eugene Field

Eugene Field, Sr. was an American writer, best known for his children's poetry and humorous essays. more…

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"To emma abbott" Poetry.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2020. Web. 29 Feb. 2020. <https://www.poetry.net/poem/13121/to-emma-abbott>.

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