The Poetical Works of The Rev. Samuel Bishop ... To Which are Prefixed, Memoirs of the Life of the Author By the Rev. Thomas Clare |
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 | The Poetical Works of The Rev. Samuel Bishop |  |
136
SUNDAY.
What thoughts, what words, what utterance should display
Devotion's feelings, when she names this Day;
I well conceive;—but know, alas! too well,
Tho' prompt my heart, how weak my tongue to tell.
When to Religious Themes we turn the strain,
To praise imperfectly, is to profane:
Forgive me then, if, conscious, I forbear
Sublimer views; and touch but what I dare:
Thine is the Sabbath, Universal Sire!
My trembling feet from holy ground retire.
Devotion's feelings, when she names this Day;
I well conceive;—but know, alas! too well,
Tho' prompt my heart, how weak my tongue to tell.
When to Religious Themes we turn the strain,
To praise imperfectly, is to profane:
Forgive me then, if, conscious, I forbear
Sublimer views; and touch but what I dare:
Thine is the Sabbath, Universal Sire!
My trembling feet from holy ground retire.
Yet what I may, I will.—Tho' the bold eye
Of rash Conceit be dazzled, Zeal may try
At humble distance a less venturous view;
And thoughts with meekness form'd, with innocence pursue.
Of rash Conceit be dazzled, Zeal may try
137
And thoughts with meekness form'd, with innocence pursue.
While then the song of Praise, and cry of Prayer,
Wing'd by glad Seraphs thro' the void of air,
From lands remote, and sea-girt isles ascends,
And earth's whole race in lowly worship bends,
Think we what joy in Heaven prevails?—How prone
To mix our gratulations with their own,
Th' Angelic Bands, that circle God's high throne?
Think we how sweet to natures so sublime
The general incense, which from many a clime,
Here Faith, here Hope, here Zeal, and here the sigh
Of penitential sorrow, wafts on high.
Wing'd by glad Seraphs thro' the void of air,
From lands remote, and sea-girt isles ascends,
And earth's whole race in lowly worship bends,
Think we what joy in Heaven prevails?—How prone
To mix our gratulations with their own,
Th' Angelic Bands, that circle God's high throne?
Think we how sweet to natures so sublime
The general incense, which from many a clime,
Here Faith, here Hope, here Zeal, and here the sigh
Of penitential sorrow, wafts on high.
Nor less delight receives th' ethereal race,
When heavenly bounty, in Heaven's laws they trace;
When each new Sabbath obvious Good supplies;
And Man, ev'n while he pays, enjoys his sacrifice.
When heavenly bounty, in Heaven's laws they trace;
When each new Sabbath obvious Good supplies;
And Man, ev'n while he pays, enjoys his sacrifice.
138
Consign'd to Piety, to Peace, to Rest,
Returns the hallow'd Day, which God hath blest;
From worldly cares the fervent heart retires;
The public silence calmer sense inspires;
Toil from her task withdraws; till ease restore
New strength; strength, spirit; spirit, joy once more:
So duty leads to comfort:—Thus of course
The seventh day offer'd gives the six their force.
Returns the hallow'd Day, which God hath blest;
From worldly cares the fervent heart retires;
The public silence calmer sense inspires;
Toil from her task withdraws; till ease restore
New strength; strength, spirit; spirit, joy once more:
So duty leads to comfort:—Thus of course
The seventh day offer'd gives the six their force.
Bland Hospitality her happiest sway
To Sunday owes:—for Sunday is her day.
To Sunday owes:—for Sunday is her day.
Neatness, whom health with constant step attends;
And Pleasure unreprov'd, (that but unbends
The bosom, not corrupts it,) these their share
In Sunday's offices, and leisure bear.
And Pleasure unreprov'd, (that but unbends
The bosom, not corrupts it,) these their share
In Sunday's offices, and leisure bear.
But chief Benevolence on Sunday's hour,
Smiles doubly gracious; whether her sweet power
Expand the Preacher's breast, while to mankind
He shews the love that calls—the laws that bind—
The virtues that exalt us; or like rain
Distilling general, thro' the throbbing vein
It stream upon the heart, in one full tide,
And drown all purpose, all desire beside.
Smiles doubly gracious; whether her sweet power
Expand the Preacher's breast, while to mankind
He shews the love that calls—the laws that bind—
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Distilling general, thro' the throbbing vein
It stream upon the heart, in one full tide,
And drown all purpose, all desire beside.
These blessings, Sunday, and these works we sing,
Sacred to thee! as thou to Heaven's dread King!
Sacred to thee! as thou to Heaven's dread King!
| The Poetical Works of The Rev. Samuel Bishop | |