The Gospel Miracles :: :: University of Virginia Library

The day had wan'd: the holy day, for man's repose design'd;
His day, who made the world; and his, who ransom'd lost mankind.
My feet, for so my Saviour wont, had duly been to pay
Meet homage in the house of Him, who sanctified the day.

There with his Church in pray'r and praise my lips were fain to join,
And from his priest my ears were fain to list to truth divine.
To cherish feelings with the day of holy rest allied,
Like Isaac to the field I went to muse at eventide.

Beneath my feet the wild flow'r lay: I mark'd its lovely hue,
Its fragrance sweet, its texture fine; and ponder'd how it grew:
I ponder'd how from earth's green lap at nature's birth it came,
And flourish'd still from age to age, another and the same:

I scann'd the providential care, the goodness, and the power,
Which with surpassing beauty cloth'd the perishable flower;
And thought, if creatures of a day could thus engage his care,
Much more should they of living soul his watchful bounty share.

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The little birds beneath the leaves were nestling for repose,
And ever and anon a peal of harmony arose:
The song was hush'd; but still was heard a twittering here and there:
It seem'd to be the parting note of thanksgiving and pray'r.

It seem'd to willing ears to say, “By us, O man, be taught
To trust in Him who feedeth us, O thou of little thought!
To praise Him, from the fowler's snare who guardeth thee by day;
And from the night's approaching storm his sheltering covert pray.”

The swallow skimm'd across my path: for now the year's sweet prime
Had warn'd her o'er the vernal seas to seek a genial clime:
Secure the summer months to pass, till hence again she fly,
A home from wintry blasts to find beneath a warmer sky.

And, thought I, shall these birds observe the seasons far abroad,
And shall not God's own people know the judgment of their God?
O, for the swallow's wing, and skill, by pow'r divine imprest,
Far from the stormy wind to flee, and seek the appointed rest!

The sheep at random lay repos'd, or wander'd o'er the mead:
But hark! the shepherd's folding voice; and see! their willing speed.

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The cows with homeward footsteps still are moving o'er the field,
To stall them at their master's crib, their gather'd wealth to yield.

And shall the very beasts, I thought, their earthly owner know,
Safe in his homestead shelter seek; and as he wills them, go?
And shall the sought, the call'd of God, from his commandment stray,
Nor in their Master's home repose, nor at his call obey?

The sun was sinking in the west: I mark'd his radiance throw
O'er all the earth, the sea, the sky, a smiling farewell glow;
And as he sank, the clouds, array'd with purple gleams and gold,
The track of his departing light, his course of glory told.

And, O thou glorious Sun, I said, with richer rays than thine
Did He, with healing on his wings, the Sun of goodness shine:
And o'er the world a lovelier flood of parting splendour pour,
That we his glory's track might note, his light far off adore.

The sun was set. I mark'd the stars as gleaming, one by one,
Bright thro' the twilight's deepening shade the gems of evening shone:

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Till rising o'er the eastern hills the full-orb'd moon was seen,
And in her brightness walking forth along the blue serene.

And O, while these fair works of thine possess my raptur'd thought,
The moon which thy right hand hath form'd, the stars thy fingers wrought;
Lord, what is man, I said, that thou a glance on him shouldst throw;
Or son of man, that thou from heav'n shouldst visit him below?

On him the solitude of night and stillness soon shall creep,
As o'er this fading face of things; and mantle him in sleep:
But thou hast said, we shall not sleep in everlasting night,
But in the twinkling of an eye shall wake again to light:

And then on this corruptible shall incorruption rest,
And robes of immortality this mortal shall invest;
And they, who in the Saviour's strength the Saviour's work have done,
Shall in their Father's kingdom shine with glory, as the sun.

Thus gazing on the works of God, the word of God my guide,
Like Isaac to the field I go, and muse at eventide:
And thus from every sound and sight, in earth or circling air,
Fit theme for solemn thought I find, and read a sermon there.

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Thence home return'd, I lay me down in peace, and seek my rest;
Safe in his arm, and in the trust of his protection blest:
But ere I sleep, with trembling hope my night's oblation make,
Thus in his Prophet's strain of old, and for my Saviour's sake.

“To Thee, Great God, most merciful, my spirit I commend:
Thy favour can thy servant's bed, as with a shield, defend.
Thou canst sustain and raise me up in life, if such thy will:
And thou, if death be thy decree, canst raise and save me still.

“Grant that each evening in its course this wayward heart may find,
Still more observant of thy laws, and to thy will resign'd;
And when the last dread evening comes, do thou my soul convey,
With Thee among thy saints to dwell in never-ending day!”