Rest, little love! rest well, my heart’s desire!
Sleep while the storm-winds blow, the furious rage;
Sleep till the foes of God and goodness tire;
Sleep till the earth fulfils her pilgrimage.
Sleep where the slender snowdrop bells in peace
Kiss the small crystals off the hoary grass;
Sleep where all angry things and hurtful cease,
Where calms brood ever and where tempests pass.
Hushed by the gracious hand of pitying death,
I hush thee too with my low song of praise;
Thou gentlest thing that ever yet drew breath,
My thanks for this thy rest to heaven I raise!
Content I leave with God what once I missed,
And keep upon thy grave my Eucharist.
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