Rest

As a little child I come
To be gathered to your breast
So tired that my lips are dumb,
So sad that my warm heart is numb:
Belovèd, let me rest.

Oh, how all the noises die,
All the cruel voices cease,
I can sleep when you are by,
And I am too faint to cry:
Here at last is peace.

Hold me, nurse me, love me... so...
Almost I could learn to weep!
Hush, I feel my spirit grow...
When you tire... let me go...
I shall be... asleep.

Irene Rutherford McLeod