  Sleep, dearest one, sleep, May you dream of bright fond love This poem that I write of you Is sent from the heavens above. And o’er you will soar an angel With golden wings, ’twill fan your brow, My love for you in heaven’s record, Be humble to our Savior for this blessing he allows. This angel will guide you o’er A path in which you may sin, But let our tender thoughts be of each other From the beginning to the end. At times you may sit and wonder Why you want me dear, I being born unfortunately poor, But the power in my writing holds you near. |
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