 | Zinzendorff, and other poems |  |
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THE SABBATH.
The world is full of toil;
Toil bids the traveler roam,
It binds the laborer to the soil,
The student to his tome;
The beasts of burden sigh,
O'erladen and opprest,
The Sabbath lifts its banner high,
And gives the weary rest.
Toil bids the traveler roam,
It binds the laborer to the soil,
The student to his tome;
The beasts of burden sigh,
O'erladen and opprest,
The Sabbath lifts its banner high,
And gives the weary rest.
The world is full of care;
The haggard brow is wrought
In furrows as of fix'd despair
And check'd the heavenward thought,
But with indignant grace
The Sabbath's chastening tone,
Drives money-changers from the place
Which God doth call his own.
The haggard brow is wrought
In furrows as of fix'd despair
And check'd the heavenward thought,
But with indignant grace
The Sabbath's chastening tone,
Drives money-changers from the place
Which God doth call his own.
The world is full of grief;
Sorrows o'er sorrows roll,
Even hope that promises relief
Doth sometimes pierce the soul;
But see the Sabbath's bound
Bears Mercy's holy seal,
A balm of Gilead for the wound
That man is weak to heal.
Sorrows o'er sorrows roll,
Even hope that promises relief
Doth sometimes pierce the soul;
But see the Sabbath's bound
Bears Mercy's holy seal,
A balm of Gilead for the wound
That man is weak to heal.
The world is full of sin;
Its tide, deceptive rolls,
The unwary to its breast to win,
And whelm unstable souls;
The Sabbath's beacon tells
Of reefs and wrecks below,
And warns, tho' gay the billow swells,
Beneath, are death and woe.
Its tide, deceptive rolls,
127
And whelm unstable souls;
The Sabbath's beacon tells
Of reefs and wrecks below,
And warns, tho' gay the billow swells,
Beneath, are death and woe.
O glorious world! where none
With fruitless labor sigh,
Where care doth wring no lingering groan,
And grief no agony;
Where Sin with fatal arts
Hath never forg'd her chains,
But deep enthron'd in angel-hearts,
One endless Sabbath reigns.
With fruitless labor sigh,
Where care doth wring no lingering groan,
And grief no agony;
Where Sin with fatal arts
Hath never forg'd her chains,
But deep enthron'd in angel-hearts,
One endless Sabbath reigns.
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