When the toils of the day are done,
When its trials and cares are o'er;
When the forces of mind and body are run,
And the heart is sore;
How welcome to me is thy rest —
The breath of approaching peace,
Which soothes the soul with a prospect blest
Of sweet release!
May my life be such that so
At its even this comfort I'll have!
For sleep is the symbol of death, and thou
Art the sign of the grave.