Soldier, rest! thy warfare o’er=
,Sleep the sleep that knows no=
t breaking:
Dream of=
battled fields no more,
Days of danger, nights of waking.
In our isle’s enchanted hall,
Hands unseen thy couch are strewing,Fairy strains of music fall,
Every sense in slumb=
er dewing.
Soldier, rest! thy warfare o’er,
Dream of fighting fields no more:
Sleep the sleep that knows not b=
reaking,
Morn of toi=
l, nor night of waking.
No rude sound shall reach thine ear,
Armor’s clang, or war-steed champing,
Trump nor pibroch summon here
Mustering clan, or squ=
adron tramping.
Yet =
the lark’s shrill fife may come
At the daybreak from the fallow,
And the bittern sounds his drum,
Booming from the sedgy shallow.
Ruder sounds shall none be near,
Guards nor warders challenge here,
Here’s no war-steed’s neigh and champing,
Shouting clans or squadro=
ns stamping.
Dre=
am on; thy march is done,
Think not of the rising sun,
For at dawning to assail ye,
Here no bugles sound reveille.
Sir Wa=
lter Scott (1771-1832)
~~=
Dr Bob Griffin
[email protected] www.grif.net
&q=
uot;Jesus Knows Me, This I Love!"