Before sleep

The toil of day is ebbing,

The quiet comes again,

In slumber deep relaxing

The limbs of tired men.

And minds with anguish shaken,

And spirits racked with grief,

The cup of all forgetting

Have drunk and found relief.

The still Lethean waters

Now steal through every vein,

And men no more remember

The meaning of their pain.

Let the weary body lie

Sunk in slumber deep.

The heart shall still remember Christ

In its very sleep.