“GOD bless the man who first invented sleep!”
(So Sancho Panza said, and so say I:
And bless him, also, that he didn’t keep
His great discovery to himself; nor try
To make it — as the lucky fellow might —
A close monopoly by patent right!
Yes — bless the man who first invented sleep
(I really can’t avoid the iteration);
But blast the man, with curses loud and deep,
Whate’er the rascal’s name, or age, or station,
Who first invented, and went round advising,
That artificial cut-off — Early Rising!
“Rise with the lark, and with the lark to bed,”
Observes some solemn, sentimental owl;
Maxims like these are very cheaply said;
But, ere you make yourself a fool or fowl,
Pray just inquire about his rise and fall.
And whether larks have any beds at all!
The time for honest folks to be abed
Is in the morning, if I reason right;
And he who cannot keep his precious head
Upon his pillow till it’s fairly light,
And so enjoy his forty morning winks,
Is up to knavery; or else — he drinks!
Thompson, who sung about the “Seasons,” said
It was a glorious thing to rise in season;
But then he said it — lying — in his bed.
At ten o’clock A. M. — the very reason
He wrote so charmingly. The simple fact is
His preaching wasn’t sanctioned by his practice.
’Tis, doubtless, well to be sometimes awake —
Awake to duty, and awake to truth —
But when, alas! a nice review we take
Of our best deeds and days, we find, in sooth,
The hours that leave the slightest cause to weep
Are those we passed in childhood or asleep!
’Tis beautiful to leave the world awhile
For the soft visions of the gentle night;
And free, at last, from mortal care or guile,
To live as only in the angel’s sight,
In sleep’s sweet realm so cozily shut in,
Where, at the worst, we only dream of sin!
So let us sleep, and give the Maker praise.
I like the lad who, when his father thought
To clip his morning nap by hackneyed phrase
Of vagrant worm by early songster caught,
Cried, “Served him right! — it’s not at all surprising;
The worm was punished, sir, for early rising!”