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Title: Time For Bed
Author: Mrs. J. C. Yule [
More Titles by Yule]
"Time for bed!"--the weary day
With its toils has passed away
Sol has wrapped his forehead bright
In the curtains of the night,
And his glorious lamp again
Lowered behind the western main
Leaving all heaven's pure expanse
Radiant with his parting glance
Just a few, faint stars are seen
Ranged around the midnight queen--
A select and glorious band
Who alone may waiting stand
Hound the monarch of the night,
Bearing up their urns of light,
Her majestic path to cheer
Till the shadows disappear.
"Time for bed!" the folded flowers
Hang their heads in forest bowers;
Nestled in each downy nest
Day's sweet songsters calmly rest;
And the night-bird's plaintive hymn
Echoes through the forest dim;
Dew-drops on the birchen-bough
In the star-beams sparkle now,
Scarce a zephyr stirs the rose
So profound is Earth's repose.
"Time for bed!" put by thy books,
Learner, with thy studious looks;--
Poet, lay the pen away,
Candle-light will spoil thy lay;--
Leave it till the morning hours
Come with sunshine to the flowers,--
Leave it till from shrub and tree
Birds pour forth their minstrelsy,--
Till the sun on wood and wold
Turns the drops of dew to gold,--
Till the bee comes forth to sip
Nectar from the flow'rets lip,--
Till the light-winged zephyrs wake
Dancing ripples on the lake,
And the cloudlets in the height
Don their fleecy robes of white;--
Then, with graceful Euterpe,
Seek the spreading greenwood tree,
And with joy, and light, and love,
AH around thee and above,
Tune thy lyre to praiseful mirth
With all happy things of Earth!
"Time for bed!"--thou man of toil,
Why consume the midnight oil?--
Night was made for slumbers blest,
Thou art weary, therefore rest!
"Time for bed!"--poor "Martha," thou
Long enough hast labored now;
All the day's bright hours are numbered,
Yet art thou "with toiling cumbered."
Lay that tedious work away
Till the blest return of day,--
Thou art care-worn and oppressed,
Thou art weary "Martha," rest!
"Time for bed!"--shut up the stove,
To its place the table move,
Lay the books into their case,
Wheel the sofa to its place,
Wind the clock, brush up the floor,
Close the shutters, lock the door,
That will do--put out the light,
Toil and trouble, all good night!
[The end]
Mrs. J. C. Yule's poem: Time For Bed
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