FOLD ye the ice-cold hands Calm on the pulseless breast; The toil of the summer day is o'er, Now cometh the evening rest; And the folded hands have nobly wrought Through noontide's din and strife, And the dauntless heart hath bravely fought In the ceaseless war of life. Smooth ye the time-thinned hair Still on the marble brow; No earthly could doth linger there To mar its beauty now. But brow and lip and darkened eye Bear a shade of deep repose, As twilight shadows softly lie On the wide-spread winter snows. No voice of discord wakes The silence still and deep, And the far-off sounds of worldly strife Cannot break the dreamless sleep. Oh, welcome rest to a heart long tossed On the tide of hopes and fears, -- To the feet that have wandered far and wide O'er the weary waste of years. From the gorgeous glare of day, Welcome the gentle night, Fading the tranquil lines away, Solemn and calm and bright. Then tenderly, tenderly fold the hands In peace on the pulseless breast, For the evening shadows come quickly on, And sweet is the Christian's rest. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CAMPUS SONNET: BEFORE AN EXAMINATION by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET LUNCH AT A CLUB by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET A DISCRETE LOVE POEM by JAMES GALVIN THE SEMANTICS OF FLOWERS ON MEMORIAL DAY by BOB HICOK |