Poetry Archives

I hear Thy voice, dear Lord;
I hear it by the stormy sea
  When winter nights are black and wild,
And when, affright, I call to Thee;
  It calms my fears and whispers me,
“Sleep well, my child.”

  I hear Thy voice, dear Lord,
In singing winds, in falling snow,
  The curfew chimes, the midnight bell.
“Sleep well, my child,” it murmurs low;
“The guardian angels come and go,—
  O child, sleep well!”

  I hear Thy voice, dear Lord,
Ay, though the singing winds be stilled,
  Though hushed the tumult of the deep,
My fainting heart with anguish chilled
By Thy assuring tone is thrilled,—
  “Fear not, and sleep!”

  Speak on—speak on, dear Lord!
And when the last dread night is near,
  With doubts and fears and terrors wild,
Oh, let my soul expiring hear
Only these words of heavenly cheer,
  “Sleep well, my child!”