Sorrow and care may meet,
The tempest cloud may low’r,
The surge of sin may beat
Upon earth’s troubled shore;
God doth His own in safety keep,
He giveth His belovèd sleep,
He giveth His belovèd sleep.

The din of war may roll,
With all her raging flight,
Grief may oppress the soul,
Throughout the weary nigh;
God doth His own in safety keep,
He giveth His belovèd sleep,
He giveth His belovèd sleep.

In childhood’s winsome page,
In manhood’s joyous bloom,
In feebleness and age,
In death’s dark gathering gloom,
God will His own in safety keep,
He giveth His belovèd sleep,
He giveth His belovèd sleep.

Joy and light, joy and light,
Over the crystal sea;
Come, come, soft and bright,
Over the crystal sea.
Come on your snowy pinions white,
Come in the silent calm of night,
Watch when the pale stars keep,
Bring the troubled one,
Bring the weary one sleep.

Love and rest, love and rest,
Carol in silver tone;
Glad songs, pure and blest,
Carol in silver tone.
Come from the fadeless flowers that grow,
Come from the sparkling streams that flow,
Come in the midnight deep,
Bring the troubled one,
Bring the weary one sleep.

Voice divine, voice divine,
Speak, and our souls shall hear;
Sweet, sweet words are Thine,
Speak, and our souls shall hear.
Tell of a cloudless region fair,
Tell of the many mansions there,
Speak to the hearts that weep,
Bring the troubled one,
Bring the weary one sleep.

Of all the thoughts of God that are
Borne inward into souls afar,
Along the psalmist’s music deep,
Now tell me if there any is,
For gift or grace surpassing this:
“He giveth His belovèd sleep”?

What would we give to our beloved?
The hero’s heart to be unmoved,
The poet’s star tuned harp, to sweep,
The patriot’s voice, to teach and rouse,
The monarch’s crown, to light the brows?
He giveth His belovèd sleep.

“Sleep soft, belovèd!” we sometimes say,
Who have no tune to charm away
Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep
But never doleful dream again
Shall break the happy slumber when
He giveth His belovèd sleep.

His dews drop mutely on the hill,
His cloud above it saileth still,
Though on its slope men sow and reap;
More softly than the dew is shed,
Or cloud is floated overhead,
He giveth His belovèd sleep.