SLEEP ON. In Memory of Father John O'Brien, C. SS. R. How short is life, a flitting cloud Before the blast. The storm wind roars, the thunder rolls Then, peace at last. Oh! Brother, life to thee was short; A summer's morn A floweret blooming in the sun, Then, left forlorn. Thy heart was fired with zealous love, Thy courage high. But list! Thy Captain softly calls And thou must die. No more thou'lt lead His forces on To victory grand; No more thou'lt join with beating heart That glorious band. Thou'rt fallen on the battle field With burnished arms. O soldier, sleep in peace, secure From war's alarms. O glorious life! Thy heart was free From aught of earth, From glittering gold, or bauble fair Of little worth. Thy gaze was fixed on Heaven's courts, Thy heart's desire On Calvary's top where Jesus burnt In love's fierce fire. O noble champion of the cross, Thy course is run. Like heaven's light, thy soul returns To heaven's Sun. O beauteous death! No worldly grief Is blustering there, The Church's voice, her tender plaint Scents all the air. How sweet to die, when voice of prayer Doth rend the skies. Released from earth, the soul ascends In glad surprise. And what is left? The house of clay Where dwelt the soul. That temple grand, where hymns to God Did often roll. Ah! guard it well, its blessed walls Will rise again. Again the soul in heaven will chant Its glad refrain. His tomb will blossom fair with flowers-- A mother's tears. In memory's halls, his name will live Through countless years. Sleep on, brave soldier, sleep And take thy rest. Like John thou sleepest now On Jesus' breast.