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by Douglas Malloch

The arms of night enfold the tired day,
The heavens Hght their million little lamps,
And, where the sun beheld the world's affray,
The gentle moon reviews its sleeping camps.
Thank God for night; thank God that men must sleep;
Thank God that men must pause in toil for gain—
For, did they not, their eyes must ever weep.
For, did they not, their hearts must ever pain.
Thank God for sleep; thank God for night and rest;
I take the balm and press it to my eyes.
Here I shall slumber, head upon my breast,
And here, refreshed, behold the new day rise.

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