Sabbath Meditations

Dublin Core


Sabbath Meditations


Come to thy secret chamber - oh, my soul,
Deep, deep within, - The thrilling harp of love
That cheers thee daily with its symphonies
Bid it keep silence, and the hand of hope
Rest 'mid the rose-buds it would weave for thee;
Repel intrusive care, and bid pale Grief,
With locks dishevell'd o'er her temples thrown,
Pause at the gate. For those are of the earth.
The pilgrim's foot that nears the Holy Land,
Turns from the caravan, with which he made
His journey through the sands, and loathes the noise
Of all its tinkling bells.

Bow down, my soul,

And enter in alone, to meet thy God,
And crave a Sabbath blessing. Thou, perchance,
By the strong urgency of prayer, shalt again
That gift of faith, which like the wondrous light
On the descending prophet's brow, reveal'd
Even to the thoughtless crowd, with what dread guest
On Sinai's shrouded top, his trembling lip
Had dar'd to talk.


Mrs. L.H. Sigourney (Lydia Sigourney)


New Series 2:31, p. 124




Mrs. L.H. Sigourney (Lydia Sigourney), “Sabbath Meditations,” Periodical Poets, accessed February 22, 2024,


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