THE DREAMERS.
Countless as the stars, whose numbers Mock us where their brightness glows, Are the dreams, that haunt our slumbers When we're gathered to repose; And, as each soft starry peeper Bursts forth in its own bright beam, So it is with every sleeper— Each one hath a separate dream.
Mother, on thy couch reclining With thy pale cheek wet with tears, Sleep around thy heart is twining Buried hopes of former years; Dream'st thou of each faded blossom, Folded once upon thy breast? Mourn not, for within his bosom They have found a safer rest.
Maiden, whose warm cheek is glowing With the spirit of thy dreams, Each wild bud of fancy blowing To thy mind as real seems; Honeyed words by sweet lips spoken Round thee have their witchery cast; May the charm remain unbroken When thy nightly dream is past.
Child of gladness, thou art sinking To thy sweet rest soft and deep, For the thirsty flowers are drinking Every tear the bright stars weep; As the silvery light of even Gathers round the parting day, So do gentle dreams of heaven Flit about thee—dream away.
Weary warrior, lately grasping In thy hand the flashing blade,In sweet dreams thou 'rt fondly clasping Lovely forms now lowly laid; Rosy lips thine own are pressing, Fairy children round thee play, But with every transient blessing Melts that soothing dream away.
Lonely captive, sleep is flinging Round thee many a witching spell; Low sweet tones are round thee ringing. Tones, that lately breathed farewell; Clanking chains thy limbs encumber— Hush! ye wild winds, peaceful be— Break not yet the captive's slumber— Rosy sleep hath set him free!
Mortals, when those dreams are over, Praise His name, who round us flings Visions bright, and bids us hover 'Neath the shadow of His wings. Soon that deep sleep will o'ertake us, Sleep, that passeth not away,Till the last trump shall awake us To one bright eternal day.