Alfred H. Miles, ed. The Sacred Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907.
By Memorials of Theophilus Trinal, Student (1850). VI. RestThomas Toke Lynch (18181871)
T
The feverish, careful day:
Can I recover
Strength that has ebbed away?
Can even sleep such freshness give,
That I again shall wish to live?
No more I seek to have
A heavenly crown,
Give me a quiet grave;
Release and not reward I ask,
Too hard for me life’s heavy task.
Hushed be my striving brain,
My beating breast;
Let me put off my pain,
And feel me sinking, sinking deep
Into an abyss of sleep.
Its aguish hope and fear,
Its empty joys,
Of these I shall not hear;
Call me no more, I cannot come;
I’m gone to be at rest, at home.
And not for heaven meet;
For one so tired
What’s left but slumber sweet,
Beneath a grassy mound of trees,
Or at the bottom of the seas?
Once in a thousand years,
Thoughts in my grave,
To know how free from fears
I sleep, and that I there shall lie
Through undisturbed eternity.
Then let me hear above
The birds that make
Songs not of human love:
Or muffled tones my ears may reach
Of storms that sound from beach to beach.
Breathes through this twilight dim?
“Rest in the Lord,
Wait patiently for Him;
Return, O soul, and thou shalt have
A better rest than in thy grave.”
But I was sorely shaken:
Art Thou my home?
I thought I was forsaken:
I know Thou art a sweeter rest
Than earth’s soft side or ocean’s breast.
“I ask no more for heaven,
Now let me die,
For I have vainly striven.”
I had, but for that word from Thee,
Renounced my immortality.
Return, O Lord, to me;
I cannot earn
That Heaven I’ll ask of Thee;
But with Thy Peace amid the strife
I still can live in hope of Life.
The feverish day is over;
Strength ebbed away,
I lie down to recover;
With sleep from Him I shall be blest,
Whose word has brought my sorrows rest.