OCR Text |
Show .by WILBUR D. NE-PBIT Hi I Sleep comes to weary fingers first of all. Though o'er the drowsy eyes the lashes fall And soothing peace sweeps In upon the soul As though the vast eternal ocean wide Came In a silent, heart-enthralling tide Upon whose breast no crashing billows Toll. Sometimes It seems that sleep creeps in and stands And pityingly holds us by the hands While day's hard tasks still linger In the mind-But mind-But softly lie the fingers wan and worn With all the heavy burdens they have borne. For sleep Is ever sweet and ever kind. How gently fall the fingers that are tired-Aweary tired-Aweary of the quest of things desired. Aweary of the labors of the day They clutch at sleep insensibly: and rest Comes to them In a portion doubly blest. And toil and task are-half a world away, O. weary hands all over all the earth The hands that do the work that is of worth. Or calloused hands, or hands both white anil small When night sends us her mvstic lullabies That whisper In the murmur of the breeze. Sleep comes to weary fingers first of all. |