Out of the infinite sea of eternity To climb, and for an instant stand Upon an island speck of time. From the impassible peace of the darkness To wake, and blink at the garish light Through one short hour of fretfulness. SLEEP O Sleep, thou kindest minister to man, Silent distiller of the balm of rest, How wonderful thy power, when naught else can, To soothe the torn and sorrow-laden breast! When bleeding hearts no comforter can find, When burdened souls droop under weight of woe, When thought is torture to the troubled mind, When grief-relieving tears refuse to flow; 'Tis then thou comest on soft-beating wings, And sweet oblivion's peace from them is shed; But ah, the old pain that the waking brings! That lives again so soon as thou art fled! Man, why should thought of death cause thee to weep; Since death be but an endless, dreamless sleep? PRAYER AT SUNRISE O mighty, powerful, dark-dispelling sun, Now thou art risen, and thy day begun. How shrink the shrouding mists before thy face, As up thou spring'st to thy diurnal race! How darkness chases darkness to the west, As shades of light on light rise radiant from thy crest! For thee, great source of strength, emblem of might, In hours of darkest gloom there is no night. Thou shinest on though clouds hide thee from sight, And through each break thou sendest down thy light. O greater Maker of this Thy great sun, Give me the strength this one day's race to run, Fill me with light, fill me with sun-like strength, Fill me with joy to rob the day its length. Light from within, light that will outward shine, Strength to make strong some weaker heart than mine, Joy to make glad each soul that feels its touch; Great Father of the sun, I ask this much. THE GIFT TO SING Sometimes the mist overhangs my path, And blackening clouds about me cling; But, oh, I have a magic way To turn the gloom to cheerful day-- I softly sing. And if the way grows darker still, Shadowed by Sorrow's somber wing, With glad defiance in my throat, I pierce the darkness with a note, And sing, and sing. I brood not over the broken past, Nor dread whatever time may bring; No nights are dark, no days are long, While in my heart there swells a song, And I can sing. MORNING, NOON AND NIGHT When morning shows her first faint flush, I think of the tender blush That crept so gently to your cheek When first my love I dared to speak; How, in your glance, a dawning ray Gave promise of love's perfect day. When, in the ardent breath of noon, The roses with passion swoon; There steals upon me from the air The scent that lurked within your hair; I touch your hand, I clasp your form-- Again your lips are close and warm.