Hymns and Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Hence! avaunt! all follies vain!
Idle pomp, and sordid gain!
Frolic mirth, forget to play!
Labour, throw thy spade away!
Hark! from yonder spire-tipp'd trees,
On the bosom of the breeze,
Peals in pleasant fall and swell,
Sunday's early matin-bell.
Holy, holy, holy Day!
Welcome thrice to thee, I say;
Thee whom suits uplifted eye,
Heart commercing with the sky;

470

Bosom calm, and step sedate;
Simple garb, and sober gait;
But, though grave thy temper be,
Yet, when thou dost come to me,
I beseech thee, holy Day!
Put not on a sad array;
(As amongst our people here
Thou too often dost appear,
Like a widow all in weeds,
Weeping o'er our wicked deeds);
But, oh come, as suits thee best,
Cheerful day of genial rest!
Come, with happy winning smile
Full of hope and free from guile!
Come, attired in raiment bright,
Roseate with celestial light!
Come, encoronall'd with flowers
Cull'd in Paradisal bowers!
Come, with looks of radiant grace,
Such as beam'd upon thy face,
When on bright Italia's shore
Thee I met in days of yore.

So together, hand in hand,
We within the aisle will stand,
Listening to the solemn sound
Now above, and now around;—
Listening to the Sanctus clear
Softly melting in the ear,
As with incense to the skies
Soars th' almighty Sacrifice;
There shall rapt devotion kneel
Breathing fire of holy zeal!
There shall penitence sincere
Plead the silent falling tear;

471

There shall Charity attend
Changing enemy to friend;
Stedfast Hope that looks on high,
And pure Faith that dares to die,
Seeking out her sole reward
In the bosom of her Lord.

Or together down some glen,
Far from busy scenes of men,
Through the hawthorns we will go,
Slowly wending to and fro;
While the soul, all else forgot
In her future final lot,
Mounting high on vivid wings,
Meditates immortal things,
Till in excess of glory clear,
Present worlds obscure appear,
Heaven's own veil is lifted high,
Death seems life, and life to die!

Such the joys I ask of thee,
Day of joy and Jubilee!
Sweet delight of earth and Heaven!
Sweetest day of all the seven!
These if but thou wilt bestow,
Here in turn to thee I vow,
In the name of young and old,
Faithful children of the fold,
Never shall the joyous chime
Fail to greet at rosy prime
Thee, upon the hills of light
Reappearing to our sight;
Never through the livelong year,
Summer gay or Winter sere,
Early Spring or Autumn hale,
Shall thy own High Altar fail

472

Of the brighest flowers that bloom,
Through the seasons as they come;
Or of all that Art supplies
Oft as fading Nature dies.