A parent’s voice rises softly over sleeping children, asking them to rest until daylight. While the little ones sleep, the adults keep long vigils and sow the harvest the children will one day gather. The speaker’s tone is tender but weighted with responsibility. Night becomes a time of quiet labour—planting dreams, tending the future, and absorbing sorrow—so that the next generation can wake to something ripe and fair. The repeated “Sleep, O my little ones, sleep” makes the poem feel like a lullaby, but the comfort is shadowed by weariness and tears. The children are promised a “golden To-morrow,” with hands ready to reap what their elders have sown. The mood is protective and hopeful, yet gently mournful: love here is expressed not through grand gestures but through staying awake, working, and weeping so the young can inherit a better morning.
In the Night — Summary
Sleep, O my little ones, sleep. Safe till the daylight be breaking . . . We have long vigils to keep, Harvests to sow while you sleep. Fair for the hour of your waking, Ripe for your sickles to reap.
Sleep, O my little ones, sleep. Yours is the golden To-morrow, Yours are the hands that will reap Dreams that we sow while you sleep. Fed with our hope and our sorrow, Rich with the tears that we weep.