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174
A SABBATH IN JULY.
A year ago to-day, the Sabbath hoursWere sweet to us, wandering together, here
In these green woods. The skies were soft and clear,
And the sun wrought his miracles in flowers.
Sweet was the Sabbath stillness of these bowers;
The birds sang in the tender atmosphere,
And God's own voice seem'd whispering low and near
To His hush'd children in those hearts of ours.
Lo! scarcely mingling with the real day,
Far thunders beat in the heart of solitude,
Echoes of Hell to Heaven's divine repose:
For, while we breathed the breathless Sabbath wood,
The cannon's awful monotone arose
Where the dread Sabbath-breaking Preacher stood!
July 21, 1862.
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