 | The Vision of Prophecy and Other Poems |  |
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VI. SABBATH EVENING.
O time of tranquil joy and holy feeling!
When over earth God's Spirit from above
Spreads out His wings of love;
When sacred thoughts, like angels, come appealing
To our tent-doors;—O eve, to earth and heaven
The sweetest of the seven!
When over earth God's Spirit from above
Spreads out His wings of love;
When sacred thoughts, like angels, come appealing
To our tent-doors;—O eve, to earth and heaven
The sweetest of the seven!
How peaceful are thy skies! thy air is clearer,
As on the advent of a gracious time:
The sweetness of its prime
Blesseth the world, and Eden's days seem nearer;
I hear, in each faint stirring of the breeze,
God's voice among the trees.
As on the advent of a gracious time:
The sweetness of its prime
Blesseth the world, and Eden's days seem nearer;
I hear, in each faint stirring of the breeze,
God's voice among the trees.
O while thy hallowed moments are distilling
Their fresher influence on my heart like dews,
The chamber where I muse
Turns to a temple!—He whose converse thrilling
Honoured Emmaus, that old eventide,
Comes sudden to my side.
Their fresher influence on my heart like dews,
The chamber where I muse
Turns to a temple!—He whose converse thrilling
Honoured Emmaus, that old eventide,
Comes sudden to my side.
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'Tis light at evening-time when thou art present,—
Thy coming to the eleven in that dim room
Brightened, O Christ! its gloom;
So bless my lonely hour that memories pleasant
Around the time a heavenly gleam may cast,
Which many days shall last.
Thy coming to the eleven in that dim room
Brightened, O Christ! its gloom;
So bless my lonely hour that memories pleasant
Around the time a heavenly gleam may cast,
Which many days shall last.
Raise each low aim, refine each high emotion,
That with more ardent footstep I may press
Toward Thy holiness;
And, braced for sacred duty by devotion,
Support my cross along that rugged road
Which Thou hast sometime trod.
That with more ardent footstep I may press
Toward Thy holiness;
And, braced for sacred duty by devotion,
Support my cross along that rugged road
Which Thou hast sometime trod.
I long to see Thee, for my heart is weary,—
O when, my Lord! in kindness wilt Thou come
To call Thy banished home?
The scenes are cheerless, and the days are dreary,—
From sorrow and from sin I would be free,
And evermore with Thee.
O when, my Lord! in kindness wilt Thou come
To call Thy banished home?
The scenes are cheerless, and the days are dreary,—
From sorrow and from sin I would be free,
And evermore with Thee.
Even now I see the golden city shining
Up the blue depths of that transparent air,—
How happy all is there!
There breaks a day which never knows declining,—
A Sabbath through whose circling hours the blest
Beneath Thy shadow rest!
Up the blue depths of that transparent air,—
How happy all is there!
There breaks a day which never knows declining,—
A Sabbath through whose circling hours the blest
Beneath Thy shadow rest!
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