Poetry: The Sabbath

Fresh glides the brook and blows the galc, Yet yoncler luilts tlie quiet mili; The whirring wheel. the rusliing sail; How motionlcss and still! Six dnys-sicrn Labor sluus the poor ' From Nature's careless banquct huil; The seventh an Angel opes the door, And, sniiling, wclcomesalll A father's tender mercy gave This holy respite to the brcast, To breathe the'gnle, to wntch the wave, And know - the wheel niay rest! Six days of toil. poor chüd of Cnin, Thy strertgth thé mnster's slave must be; The seventh. the limbs escape ihe chain - A God liath made thee iree! The fields that yester morning knew Thy footstcps as their serf, survey; On thee, as rhein. (K'sccnds the dew, The baptisin of the ány. Fresh güde3 the brook and blows ihe gale, But yon'er hahs the quiet mili; The whirring wheel, the ruhing sail, How motionless and slill!So rest, O weary heary heart! but, lo, The cliurch-spirc, glist'ning up to heaven, To wam thee wheie thy thoughts should go To day thy' God Indi givení Lonc throvgh the landscape s solemn rest The spire its moral poinis on high - O Soul, at peace within the breast, Rise, mingling vvhh the sky! They teil thee, in their dreaming school Of Power from oíd Dominion liurled, When rich and poor, with juster rule, Shall sharc the altcied world. Alns! since Timo itself b:gnn. Tliat íable hath but fooled the liour; Each age that íipens Power in Man Butsubjects man to Power. Yet every day in seven, at least, One bright Republic shall Le known; Man' é world awhile hath surcly ccased Whcn God proclaims his ownl Six days may rank divido the poor, O Dives. from thy banquet hall - The seventli. the Father opes the door, And holds his fcast lor nllj