Azlea. (Sings.)
Rest thee now, weary one, soft is thy pillow;
Rest thee, and dream of thy dear distant home;
Dream of the hearts that far over the billow
Still love you, and bless you wherever you roam.
Dream of thy mother, whose prayers ever arise
At morning, at noon, and at evening for thee;
Rest thee, and dream of her—richer the prize
Of a mother's warm blessing than wealth of the sea.
Dream of the sister whose tender caresses
Clung to thy form in her weeping farewell;
Dream of your meeting, your joyful embraces,
And the stories of love each shall hasten to tell.
Dream of thy home, of its dear youthful pleasures,
Of the sports of the field, of the river and wood—
Thy heart shall remember all these with its pleasures,
And mem'ries rush over thy soul in a flood.
Rest thee then, weary one, soft is thy pillow;
Rest thee and dream of the land of thy love;
Absence, nor distance, nor rude rolling billow,
To soul meeting soul shall a barrier prove.
Enter Hermon.
Her. Heaven's blessings on thee, Azlea, sweet child!
Thou hast a suff'rer under thy kind care,
Who I perceive is sleeping. I was sent
By a poor fisherman of the coast, to him,
That should he wish confession of his sins
He might have holy comfort and advice.
Azlea. The stranger, holy father, is now lying
In quiet, natural sleep, that will restore
