 | Poetical Trifles |  |
127
[The Sabbath is the morn of rest]
Quies grata
—Hor.
—Hor.
The Sabbath is the morn of rest,
A rest from earthly sorrow;
The peace of heav'n to smooth the breast,
And firm it for the morrow.
A rest from earthly sorrow;
The peace of heav'n to smooth the breast,
And firm it for the morrow.
The Sabbath is the boon of love,
For weary souls a pillow;
A sighing of the thoughts above,
Like breezes o'er the billow.
For weary souls a pillow;
A sighing of the thoughts above,
Like breezes o'er the billow.
The Sabbath is a sainted peace,
Each mental bliss embalming;
That bids corroding passions cease,
Like silent requiem calming.
Each mental bliss embalming;
That bids corroding passions cease,
Like silent requiem calming.
128
The Sabbath is a mystic day,
Oft brighter joys the semblance;
To pining pilgrims on their way,
The sweetness of remembrance!
Oft brighter joys the semblance;
To pining pilgrims on their way,
The sweetness of remembrance!
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