Softly, softly breathe your numbers;
And wrap his weary'd soul in slumbers!
Gentle Sleep, becalm his breast,
And close his eyes in healing rest!
Descend, celestial visions, ye who wait,
God's ministring powers, at heaven's eternal gate!
Ye, who nightly vigils keep,
And rule the silent realms of Sleep,
Exalt the just to joys refin'd,
And plunge in woe the guilty mind;
Descend! — Oh, waft him to the skies,
And open all heaven's glories to his eyes!
Beyond yon starry roof, by seraphs trod,
Where Light's unclouded fountains blaze;
Where choirs immortal hymn their God,
Intranc'd in extasy of ceaseless praise.
Angels, heal his anguish!
Your harps and voices join!
His grief to bliss shall languish,
When sooth'd by sounds divine.