Reely's Poetry Blog

By EUGENE FIELD (1850-1895)

The fire upon the hearth is low,
And there is stillness everywhere;
Like troubled spirits, here and there
The firelight shadows fluttering go;
And as the shadows round me creep,
A childish treble breaks the gloom
And softly from a further room
Comes, "Now I lay me down to sleep."

And, somehow, with that little prayer
And that sweet treble in my ears,
My thought goes back to distant years,
And lingers with a dear one there;

 And as I hear the child's Amen,
My mother's faith comes back to me,—
Crouched at her side I seem to be,
And mother holds my hands again.

O for an hour in that dear place!
O for the peace of that dear time!
O for that childish trust sublime!
O for a glimpse of mother's face!
Yet, as the shadows round me creep,
I do not seem to be alone,—
Sweet magic of that treble tone
And "Now I lay me down to sleep."