Henry Van Dyke
Forget, forget! The tide of life is turning; The waves of light ebb slowly down the west: Along the edge of dark some stars are burning To guide thy spirit safely to an isle of rest. A little rocking on the tranquil deep Of song, to soothe thy yearning, A little slumber and a little sleep, And so, forget, forget! Forget, forget,— The day was long in pleasure; Its echoes die away across the hill; Now let thy heart beat time to their slow measure That swells, and sinks, and faints, and falls, till all is still. Then, like a weary child that loves to keep Locked in its arms some treasure, Thy soul in calm content shall fall asleep, And so forget, forget. Forget, forget,— And if thou hast been weeping, Let go the thoughts that bind thee to thy grief: Lie still, and watch the singing angels, reaping The golden harvest of thy sorrow, sheaf by sheaf; Or count thy joys like flocks of snow-white sheep That one by one come creeping Into the quiet fold, until thou sleep, And so forget, forget! Forget, forget,— Thou art a child and knowest So little of thy life! But music tells One secret of the world thro' which thou goest To work with morning song, to rest with evening bells: Life is in tune with harmony so deep That when the notes are lowest Thou still canst lay thee down in peace and sleep, For God will not forget.