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A word and a grimace, but reverently,
With covered face and upward earnest eye.

Hail, SABBATH! thee I hail, the poor man's day: The pale mechanic now has leave to breathe The morning air, pure from the city's smoke, While, wandering slowly up the river side, He meditates on Him, whose power he marks In each green tree that proudly spreads the bough, As in the tiny dew-bent flowers that bloom Around its roots; and while he thus surveys, With elevated joy, each rural charm, He hopes, yet fears presumption in the hope, That Heaven may be one SABBATH without end.

But now his steps a welcome sound recals : Solemn the knell, from yonder ancient pile, Fills all the air, inspiring joyful awe: Slowly the throng moves o'er the tomb-paved ground: The aged man, the bowed down, the blind Led by the thoughtless boy, and he who breathes With pain, and eyes the new-made grave, well pleased: These, mingled with the young, the gay, approach The house of God; these, spite of all their ills, A glow of gladness feel; with silent praise They enter in. A placid stillness reigns,

Until the man of God, worthy the name,
Arise, and read the anointed shepherd's lays,
His locks of snow, his brow serene,,his look
Of love, it speaks, “ Ye are my children all,
The gray-haired man, stooping upon his staff,
As well as he, the giddy child, whose eye
Pursues the swallow flitting thwart the dome.”
Loud swells the song : 0, how that simple song,
Though rudely chaunted, how it melts the heart,
Commingling soul with soul in one full tide
Of praise, of thankfulness, of humble trust!
Next comes the unpremeditated prayer,
Breathed from the inmost heart, in accents low,
But earnest. -Altered is the tone; to man
Are now addressed the sacred speaker's words.
Instruction, admonition, comfort, peace,
Flow from his tongue: O chief let comfort flow!
It is most wanted in this vale of tears :
Yes, make the widow's heart to sing for joy;
The stranger to discern the Almighty's shield
Held o'er his friendless head; the orphan child
Feel, mid his tears, I have a father still!
'Tis done. But hark that infant querulous voice !
Plaint not discordant to a parent's ear:
And see the father raise the white-robed babe
In solemn dedication to the Lord :

The holy man sprinkles with forth-stretched hand
The face of innocence; then earnest turns,
And prays a blessing in the name of Him,
Who said, Let little children come to me ;
Forbid them not : * The infant is replaced
Among the happy band: they, smilingly,
In

gay attire, wend to the house of mirth, The poor man's festival, a jubilee day, Remembered long

Nor would I leave

punsung The lofty ritual of our sister land: In vestment white, the minister of God Opens the book, and reverentially The stated portion reads. A pause ensues. The organ

breathes its distant thunder-notes, Then swells into a diapason full: The people rising, sing, With harp, with harp,

* " And they brought young children to him, that he should touch them; and his disciples rebuked those that brought them. But when Jesus saw it he was much displeased, and said unto them, suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not; for of such is the kingdom of God. Verily I say unto you, Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child, he shall not enter therein. And he took them up in his arms, put his hands upon them, and blessed them." -MARK, X. 13, 14, 15, 16.

2

And voice of psalms; harmoniously attuned
The various voices blend; the long-drawn aisles,
At every close, the lingering strain prolong.
And now the tubes a mellowed stop controuls,
In softer harmony the people join,
While liquid whispers from yon orphan band
Recall the soul from adoration's trance,
And fill the eye with pity's gentle tears.
Again the organ-peal, loud-rolling, meets
The halleluiahs of the choir : Sublime,
A thousand notes symphoniously ascend,
As if the whole were one, suspended high
In air, soaring heavenward: afar they float,
Wafting glad tidings to the sick man's couch:
Raised on his arm, he lists the cadence close,
Yet thinks he hears it still : his heart is cheered;
He smiles on death; but, ah! a wish will rise,
“ –Would I were now beneath that echoing roof!
No lukewarm accents from my lips should flow;
My heart would sing; and many a Sabbath-day
My steps should thither turn; or, wandering far
In solitary paths, where wild flowers blow,
There would I bless His name who led me forth
From death's dark vale, to walk amid those sweets;
Who gives the bloom of health once more to glow
Upon this cheek, and lights this languid eye.”

It is not only in the sacred fane
That homage should be paid to the Most High;
There is a temple, one not made with hands,
The vaulted firmament: Far in the woods,
Almost beyond the sound of city chime,
At intervals heard through the breezeless air;
When not the limberest leaf is seen to move,
Save where the linnet lights upon

the

spray ; When not a floweret bends its little stalk, Save where the bee alights upon the bloom; There, rapt in gratitude, in joy, and love, The man of God will pass the Sabbath-noon; Silence his praise: his disembodied thoughts, Loosed from the load of words, will high ascend Beyond the empyrean.Nor yet less pleasing at the heavenly throne, The Sabbath-service of the shepherd-boy. In some lone glen, where every sound is lulled To slumber, save the tinkling of the rill, Or bleat of lamb, or hovering falcon's cry, Stretched on the sward, he reads of Jesse's son; Or sheds a tear o'er him to Egypt sold, And wonders why he weeps; the volume closed, With thyme-sprig laid between the leaves, he sings The sacred lays, his weekly lesson, conned With meikle care beneath the lowly roof,

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