Poem by James Weldon Johnson

Sleep

O Sleep, thou kindest minister to man,
  Silent distiller of the balm of rest,
How wonderful thy power, when naught else can,
  To soothe the torn and sorrow-laden breast!
When bleeding hearts no comforter can find,
  When burdened souls droop under weight of woe,
When thought is torture to the troubled mind,
  When grief-relieving tears refuse to flow;
'Tis then thou comest on soft-beating wings,
  And sweet oblivion's peace from them is shed;
But ah, the old pain that the waking brings!
  That lives again so soon as thou art fled!

Man, why should thought of death cause thee to weep;
Since death be but an endless, dreamless sleep?

1. And the Greatest of These Is War
2. Brer Rabbit, You's de Cutes' of 'Em All
3. An Explanation
4. De Little Pickaninny's Gone to Sleep
5. The Ghost of Deacon Brown

John Tabb Sleep ("When he is a little chap")

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