The age-herald. [volume] (Birmingham, Ala.) 1897-1902, 1899-04-30
THE MURMUR
OF THE WORLD

= = Sleep, gentle sleep,
Natures soft nurse, how have 1 frighted
thee
That thou no more wilt weight my eye
lids down
And Steep my senses in forgetfulness?
Why rather, sleep lest thou in smoky cribs
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,
And hush'd with buzzing night-fiies to thy
slumber,
Than in the perfumed chambers of the
great
Under canopies of costly state,
And lulled with sounds of sweetest melody?
o, thou dull god, why Hest thou with the
vile
In loathsome beds, and leavst the kingly
couch
A watch-case or common 1arum bell?
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast
Seal up the ship-hoy's eyes and rock his
brains
In cradle of the rude imperieus surge;
And in the visitation of the winds,
Who take the rufilan pillows by the top,
Curling their monstrous heads and tang
ling them
With deafening clamors In the slippery
clouds
That, with the hurry DEATH itself awakes?
Canst thou o, partial sleep! give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy i'm an hour rude,
And in the camest and most stilest night
With all appliances and means to boot
Deny it to king? Then happy low, lie
down!
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
IT Is ''Sleep, that knits up the travelled
sleave of care, the death of each days
life sore labor's bath, balm of hurt
minds, great natures second course, chief
nourisher in life's feast" These are the
noblest words on sleep yet writ of man
save that divine promise that HE giveth
His beloved Sleep When Browning was
being laid to rest in the cathedral of Eng
lands Immortas the choir sang HE giveth
His beloved sleepr' Many of you who fol-
low these poor murmurings need not be
told that the great Love of Browning's
life had written some wondrously sweet
lines under that promise, and these had
been set to music as hymn. Some of you
may have forgotten this, but there is not
one of you who will not appreciate the
significance of that music at the time. L
had been given an obscure seat l craved
in Westminster to join in the service to
Browning's memory. By my side was
friend a Fellow of oxford. When the music
BEGAN impulsively rested my hand upon
my friends arm, and we remained silent.
1t was not a time for speech. The notes
rolled through that ancient place and lin
gered about the tombs of generations CT
kings and illustrious men and women. On
very few occasions had I or have 1 been
so deeply moved. My friend was as rigid
as statue. The melody ceased, the BEN
ediction was spoken, and Browning had
been accorded in death the highest honors
England could bestow. We came away full
of thought and hope and health and pur-
pose; and as we emerged from that great
portal to the eastward the learned one
said, almost reverently: EN- the original
manuscript of sacred papers the promise
is that He giveth his beloved lasting
Sleep
These were the only words spoken as We
Joined the great throng and added our lit
tie part to what Lowell so graphically de-
scribed as "the dull ceaseIess roar of LON
don.' The utterance of the learned did
not matter then; it does not now. We are
years older, and the sea rolls between. 1t
is not for me to intrude upon the preroga-
tive of the priests of God and discuss
whether "He giveth his beloved lasting
sleep" That belongs to the an
nonted and the consecrated. "And not all
the waters of the rough, rude sea can
wash the balm from an annointed-" That
speech made outside Westminster was
many a time repeated over steamlng
bowl and briar-root pipes at Christchurch
college, and 1t cannot be forgot, but 1t Is
merely a memory; it does not matter TO
him who tells this poor little tale under
a canopy of smoke from a WORKOUT tobac-
CO pipe that might tell many a story CT
many an evening spent around tho open
fire whilst the punch brewed and brilliant
young men settled gravest problems OF
philosophy, science and religion.