 | The poetical works of Edward Rowland Sill |  |
232
SUNDAY
Not a dread cavern, hoar with damp and mould,
Where I must creep, and in the dark and cold,
Offer some awful incense at a shrine
That hath no more divine
Than that 't is far from life, and stern, and old;
Where I must creep, and in the dark and cold,
Offer some awful incense at a shrine
That hath no more divine
Than that 't is far from life, and stern, and old;
But a bright hilltop in the breezy air,
Full of the morning freshness high and clear,
Where I may climb and drink the pure, new day,
And see where winds away
The path that God would send me, shining fair.
Full of the morning freshness high and clear,
Where I may climb and drink the pure, new day,
And see where winds away
The path that God would send me, shining fair.
| The poetical works of Edward Rowland Sill | |