Sleep, the kind angel, is near me

Sleep, the kind angel, is near me,

Angel of balm and of rest,

Balm for the wounds of the spirit,

Rest for the pangs of the breast.

Softly I rest on his bosom,

Trusting in hopes that are o'er,

Meet him, -- the dream of my being,

Meet him, -- who ne'er may be more.

Fair be the arms that await him.

Rich the fond heart in its store,

Sweet be the voice that shall cheer him,

Cheer him -- when I am no more!

Death, the kind angel, is near me,

Angel of balm and of rest,

Sweet to the wounded and weary,

Sweet to repose on his breast!