The poem
Some praise the Lord for Light, The living spark; I thank God for the Night The healing dark. When wearily I lie, With aching sight, With what thanksgiving I Turn out the light!
When to night's drowsy deep Serene I sink, How glad am I to sleep, To cease to think! From care and fret set free, In sweet respite, With joy I peacefully Turn out the light.
Lie down thou weary one, And sink to rest; Nay, grieve not for the sun, The dark is best. So greet with grateful breath Eternal Night, When soft the hand of Death Turns out the light.