Lay of Peace in Sickness.

Pleasantly passeth the summer away,1
Gladly the sun lights my chamber each day ;2
Softly my head on the pillow is prest,3
Few are my pains, and my spirit hath rest.4
Soon as the twilight of evening is seen,5
Hush’d on the bosom of Jesus I lean ;6
Wait I then calmly asleep or awake,7
Compass’d with love till the grey morning break,8
Call me not patient,—the word doth not sound9
Fit for a sinner with mercies around ;10
Patient ! and who then am I to repine,11
While the best gifts are eternally mine ?12
Say, is it strange I should sing on a bed,13
Which by the hand of Jehovah is spread ?14
Rather I bless it, for here when I die,15
Sleep shall be sweet” till I waken on high.16
Careth the child in the school-house to roam,17
After her ear catcheth tidings of home ;18
Waiteth the exile to grasp in his hand,19
Weeds by the way to his own fatherland.20
So the bright world is unheeded by me,21
While from my chamber a fairer I see ;22
So its glad light, as it falls on my way,23
Blesses, but never can lengthen my stay.24