In the Land of Sleep
I thank the Lord for night; it brings him here
That I may mother him a little while--
This son of mine who sometimes seems so near
To me that I can almost see his smile.
When in my sleep, he walks and talks with me,
Tells me about his full life Over There,
And of his dreams--of how his soul is free.
Again he lets me comb his wayward hair.
I marvel at his manliness and charms--
The little boy is gone; this is a man.
I hold him close within my hungry arms;
I ease my aching heart while yet I can.
Then I awaken peaceful, comforted--
This living son of mine! He is not dead!