Poems (Acton)/The Sleeping Monitor

THE SLEEPING MONITOR.

There lay a weary child
 'Neath an old tree;
In its sweet sleep it smiled,
 How joyfully!
Bright must its dreams have been,
Couched in that sylvan scene
 So peacefully.

One near that sheltered spot
 Gloomily pass'd;
Fortune around his lot
 Rich gifts had cast;
Yet did his heart declare
Peace from its sojourn there
 Still hurried fast.

Slowly his footsteps stray
 By glade and hill,
Where the young sleeper lay
 Slumbering still;
Smiles on its eyelids rest,
As if its guileless breast
 Gay visions fill.

Soft stole the stranger on,
 Downward he bent;
Long that smooth brow upon
 Gazed he intent;
"Oh! that such rest were mine!
And to my sleep like thine
 Sweet dreams were sent."

Tears o'er his earnest gaze
 Silently start;
Thoughts of forgotten days
 Steal round his heart;
When with his day-dreams fair,
Like the child sleeping there,
 Grief had no part.

All that the world calls great,
 His might be styled;
Glory and high estate
 On him had smil'd;
Yet had he falsehood found,
And for its sleep profound
 Envied that child.

Then came the yearning thought—
 Would it be vain,
If he with fervour sought
 Sweet peace to gain?
How should he welcome rest
Back to his wearied breast
 Gladly again?

"Peace may once more be thine!"
 Hope whispered low;
But in thy bosom's shrine
 Change must thou know.
Some to thee false have seem'd,
All hast thou worthless deem'd—
 Ah, 'tis not so!

"Scatter thou mercy's seed,
 Wipe tears away,
Kind word and noble deed
 Sow while you may:
Gladden the mourning one—
Joy, for such mercies done,
 With thee shall stay."

"Sweet one! the stranger cried,
 "Sleep in thy dell;
Peace doth thy slumbers guide
 As with a spell.
Holy thoughts woke by thee,
Never shall pass from me—
 God guard thee well!"
H. A.