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!