^ Mrs. Browning has told us that there was no verse in the Book of Psalms which fell upon her ear with such comfort as this —
Of all the thoughts of God that are Borne inward unto souls afar,
95
96 THE GIFTS OF SLEEP
Along the Psalmist's music deep, Now tell me if that any is, For gift or grace, surpassing this — " He giveth His beloved, sleep " ?
The text yields three shades of meaning. In the one precious gift of sleep, there are really three givings — - I. The Giving of Sleep, II. The Giving in Sleep. III. The Giving by Sleep.
The Giving of Sleep.
1. "He giveth unto his beloved sleep." The persons to whom this language must be taken to be addressed are the builders and the watchmen of the foregoing verse. For them God provided the gift of sleep. And the harder the building in the daytime, and the keener the watching while the sentry goes his round, the more certain is the man to value the blessing of slumber when God, in love, gives it to him. No doubt, " the sleep of the labouring man is sweet," But, if it be only genuine sleep, the boon is far richer when it comes after care than when it comes only after muscular fatigue. We all know how natural are the cries for sleep which Henry rv, is represented as pouring out when he contrasts the lighter woes of the poor, allowing the gift to come, with the heavier anxieties he endured, banishing it from his pillow.
^ This is what Sancho Panza — the little Spanish peasant with the short legs who acted as squire to Don Quixote — said about sleep. Sancho's words were : " Now blessings light on him who first invented sleep ! It covers a man all over, thoughts and all, like a cloak ; it is meat for the hungry, drink for the thirsty, heat for the cold, and cold for the hot." ^
^ I cannot help my heart feeling heavy, I wonder during how many years of my life bed has been the one haven and longed- for forgetfulness of care. I do not mean that I have not hud much, very much, that I am grateful for, of mere human pleasant- ' C. Jordan, Messages to the Children, 195.
PSALM cxxvii. 2 97
ness, but that, on the whole, the cares of the day have outweighed the joys and made one glad of bed as an escape. Truly, bed is a wonderful haven, and I do thank God for having given me through so many years sleep. " He giveth his beloved sleep " ; may it not be in this lower sense as well as in the higher ? I would fain think so ; at least, I know His gift of sleep has been nothing less than a gift of life to me.^
^ I sat up alone; two or three times I paid a visit to the children's room. It seemed to me, young mothers, that I under- stood you ! — Sleep is the mystery of life ; there is a profound charm in this darkness broken by the tranquil light of the night- lamp, and in this silence measured by the rhythmic breathings of two young sleeping creatures. It was brought home to me that I was looking on at a marvellous operation of nature, and I watched it in no profane spirit. I sat silently listening, a moved and hushed spectator of this poetry of the cradle, this ancient and ever new benediction of the family, this symbol of creation sleeping under the wing of God, of our consciousness withdrawing into the shade that it may rest from the burden of thought, and of the tomb, that Divine bed, where the soul in its turn rests from life. To sleep is to strain and purify our emotions, to deposit the mud of life, to calm the fever of the soul, to return into the bosom of maternal nature, thence to re-issue, healed and strong. Sleep is a sort of innocence and purification. Blessed be He who gave it to the poor sons of men as the sure and faithful companion of life, our daily healer and consoler.^
When to soft sleep we give ourselves away,
And in a dream as in a fairy bark
Drift on and on through the enchanted dark
To purple daybreak — little thought we pay
To that sweet better world we know by day.
We are clean quit of it, as is a lark
So high in heaven no human eye can mark
The thin swift pinion cleaving through the gray.
Till we awake ill fate can do no ill.
The resting heart shall not take up again
The heavy load that yet must make it bleed;
For this brief space the loud world's voice is still,
No faintest echo of it brings us pain.
How will it be when we shall sleep indeed ? '
^ Life and Letters of Edward Hiring, ii. 29. ^ Amiel's Journal (trans, by Mrs. Humphry Ward), 38. ^ Thomas Bailey Aldrich. PS. CXIX.-SONG OF SOL. — ^
98 THE GIFTS OF SLEEP
2. Sleep, gift of love and more than golden, is but a word to stand for a rest yet sweeter and deeper. The blessing that drops as from the hovering hands of God upon the wearied frame is but the Amen to the better blessing breathed by the Spirit of God into the spirit of man. First He giveth His beloved peace of heart, and then comes the sign of it in the slumbering nerve and limb. This inner hush and rest is God's own gift and His dearest love-token. Well do we know that it is no easy boon from His overflowing hand. It is no less than the gift of Himself. He gave Himself to live in our nature and to be for ever one with us and one of us. He gave Himself to do our part and bear our curse. He is ceaselessly giving Himself to us in ruling our lot and touch- ing our heart. Jesus gives each of us the privilege of John, and we are wooed to lie back on His breast and lose ourselves in Him. The moment we do so, His peace flows from His heart to our heart. He giveth His beloved sleep.