The Sabbath in the Country

The Sabbath in the Country

The Sabbath morning breaks upon the earth,

And toiling millions hail the blessed day—

The one of all that gives them sweet repose

From cares and toils that e'er beset life's way.

The sun, uprising, tints the eastern sky,

And bathes the earth in floods of golden light,

Whilst the red robbin twitters on the spray,

And sings his parting to the faded night.

Calm silence reigns, save when the rustl'ing leaves

Their anthems breathe in softly-whispered strains,

And the low murmur of yon crystal stream

Floats still more softly o'er the dew-gem'd plains.

Anon the pealings of the distant bells

Come lightly floating on the breeze of morn,

Their ringing melodies, in joyous notes,

Proclaiming still another Sabbath born.

And now the rustic lads, and lasses, too,

Trip lightly o'er the dew-besprinkled sod

Toward the moss-grown church on yonder hill,

To listen to the holy man of God.

And close behind them slowly wend their way

The village matron and the grey-haired sire,

Whose limbs are tremb'ling with the weight of years,

Whose eyes long since have lost their youthful fire.

And now the day draws slowly to its close—

Sweet peace prevails, and quiet reigns o'er earth;

The church dismiss'd, the rustics homeward plod,

To offer thanks to Him who gave it birth.

The joyous earth sinks to its calm repose,

And hush'd the anthem and the pealing strain;

The morrow comes, and with the rising sun

The world awakes to busy life again

Zelotes R. Bennett

1:42, p. 1

5.5.1860

From the New York Dispatch