 | Poems And Songs |  |
36
SABBATH MORN.
A COUNTRY PICTURE.
'Tis Sabbath morn.—A drizzling rain
Around Garcloss at dawn was showering;
But now the sun looks out again,
Dundyvan's impious gleam o'erpowering.
The eastern clouds are purple-fringed,
The woods are with his glory tinged.
Around Garcloss at dawn was showering;
But now the sun looks out again,
Dundyvan's impious gleam o'erpowering.
The eastern clouds are purple-fringed,
The woods are with his glory tinged.
'Tis Sabbath morn.—The shrieking hail
Of engines breaks no rest this morning,
Save when the nation-serving mail
Flies past, its presence loudly horning;
While echoes far o'er moor and hill
The locomotive matin shrill.
Of engines breaks no rest this morning,
Save when the nation-serving mail
Flies past, its presence loudly horning;
While echoes far o'er moor and hill
The locomotive matin shrill.
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'Tis Sabbath morn.—From Campsie braes
The veil of mist is fast unrolling;
And hark! how sweetly Boreas plays
On yonder wires his hymn Æolian!—
Last night 'twas but a sound of course;
To-day it hath an anthem's force.
The veil of mist is fast unrolling;
And hark! how sweetly Boreas plays
On yonder wires his hymn Æolian!—
Last night 'twas but a sound of course;
To-day it hath an anthem's force.
'Tis Sabbath morn.—An early thrush
With new, with spring-born pleasure panting,
Sits on yon naked hawthorn bush,
Of Spring's return no doubt descanting;
And now and then a clear joy-note
Gives to the listening moor his thought.
With new, with spring-born pleasure panting,
Sits on yon naked hawthorn bush,
Of Spring's return no doubt descanting;
And now and then a clear joy-note
Gives to the listening moor his thought.
'Tis Sabbath morn.—Yon mossy burn
Runs brownly on, but oft it pauses,
And 'mong its grasses seems to turn,
As if it would inquire what causes
The unwonted absence on its banks
Of childhood's laugh and merry pranks.
Runs brownly on, but oft it pauses,
And 'mong its grasses seems to turn,
As if it would inquire what causes
The unwonted absence on its banks
Of childhood's laugh and merry pranks.
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'Tis Sabbath morn.—Sweet burn! it knows
No Sabbath—no dear time of resting;
Like Time itself, it onward flows,
No moment lost, no atom wasting;
Now nourishing some thirsty flower,
Now proudly aiding human power.
No Sabbath—no dear time of resting;
Like Time itself, it onward flows,
No moment lost, no atom wasting;
Now nourishing some thirsty flower,
Now proudly aiding human power.
'Tis Sabbath morn.—The Sabbath bell,
Methinks it knows not where Garcloss is;
Why comes its voice not here to tell,
Among the answering woods and mosses,
That there's another week away,
And that to-day is Sabbath-day?
Methinks it knows not where Garcloss is;
Why comes its voice not here to tell,
Among the answering woods and mosses,
That there's another week away,
And that to-day is Sabbath-day?
'Tis Sabbath morn.—The monthly pay
Occurred last night. The monthly fuddle
Last night began, and still to-day
Continues minds and brains to muddle:
No thought of bells to-day is there—
Nor cares, except the creature care.
Occurred last night. The monthly fuddle
Last night began, and still to-day
Continues minds and brains to muddle:
No thought of bells to-day is there—
Nor cares, except the creature care.
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'Tis Sabbath morn.—O sacred morn,
To slavery ever antidotal!
Behold where men thy presence scorn,
Esteeming thee beneath the bottle—
Devoting, careless of the soul,
Thy precious time to alcohol.
To slavery ever antidotal!
Behold where men thy presence scorn,
Esteeming thee beneath the bottle—
Devoting, careless of the soul,
Thy precious time to alcohol.
'Tis Sabbath morn.—Thy morn, O Toil!
The morn of morns! time's richest blessing:
Is this the way to meet its smile,
With gross debauch the brain oppressing?
Thou know'st 'twas given for good to man;
Seek'st thou to mar that glorious plan?
The morn of morns! time's richest blessing:
Is this the way to meet its smile,
With gross debauch the brain oppressing?
Thou know'st 'twas given for good to man;
Seek'st thou to mar that glorious plan?
'Tis Sabbath morn.—Oh! littleness
Immense!—oh! cause of saddest sorrow!
Dear brother-atoms of the mass,
Be sober on the Sabbath morrow.
Would you from Ruin's fetters flee,
Be sober, and at length be free!
Immense!—oh! cause of saddest sorrow!
Dear brother-atoms of the mass,
Be sober on the Sabbath morrow.
Would you from Ruin's fetters flee,
Be sober, and at length be free!
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