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SLOW through the solemn air, in silence sailing, Borne by mysterious angels, strong and fair, She sleeps at last, blest dreams her eyelids veiling, Above this weary world of strife and care. Lo how she passeth!-dreamy, slow, and calm: Scarce wave those broad, white wings, so silvery bright; Those cloudy robes, in star-emblazoned folding, Sweep mistily athwart the evening light. Far, far below, the dim, forsaken earth, The foes that threaten, or the friends that weep; Past, like a dream, the torture and the pain: For so He giveth his beloved sleep. The restless bosom of the surging ocean Gives back the image as the cloud floats o'er, Hushing in glassy awe his troubled motion; For one blest moment he complains no more.