The Poetical Works of David Macbeth Moir :: :: University of Virginia Library

After a week of restless care and coil,
How sweet unspeakably it is to wake,
And see, in sunshine, thro' the lattice break
The Sabbath morn's serene and saintly smile!
To hallowed quiet human stir is hushed;
'Twould almost seem that the external world
Felt God's command, and that the sea-waves curled
More blandly, making music as they rushed.
The flowers breathe fragrance; from the summer fields
Hark to the small birds singing, singing on
As 'twere an endless anthem to the throne
Of Nature for the boundless stores she yields:
Yea! to the Power that shelters and that shields,
All living things mute adoration own.

II.

If Earth hath aught that speaks to us of Heaven,
'Tis when, within some lone and leafy dell,
Solemn and slow we list the Sabbath bell,
On Music's wings, thro' the clear ether driven:—
Say not the sounds aloud—“O men, 'twere well
Hither to come; walk not in sins unshriven;
Haste to this temple; tidings ye shall hear,
Ye who are sorrowful and sick in soul,
Your doubts to chase, your downcastness to cheer,
To bind affliction's wounds, and make you whole:
Hither—come hither; though, with Tyrian dye,
Guilt hath polluted you, yet, white as snow,
Cleansed by the streams that from this altar flow,
Home ye shall pass to meet your Maker's eye?”

III.

Soother of life, physician of all ail,
Thou, more than reputation, wealth, or power,
In the soul's garden the most glorious flower,
Earth's link to Heaven, Religion thee I hail!
Than Luxury's domes, where thou art oft forgot,
Life's aim and object quite misunderstood,
With thee how far more blest the lowliest cot,
The coarsest raiment, and the simplest food!
O! may not with the Heavenly, holy calm
Of Sabbath, from our hearts thine influence glide;
But, thro' Earth's pilgrimage, whate'er betide,
May o'er our path thy sweets descend like balm;
Faith telling that the Almighty light, “I Am,”
Is ever through Sin's labyrinth our guide.

IV.

Fallen hath our lot on days of pleasant calm,
How different from the stormy times of yore
When prayer was broken by the cannon's roar,
And death-shrieks mingled with the choral psalm!
In sacred as in civil rights, we now
Are Freedom's children: not in doubt and fear,
But with blest confidence, in noonday clear,
As fitliest deems the heart, the knee we bow:
Soon be it so with all! may Christian light
Diffusing mental day from zone to zone,
Rescue lorn lands from Superstition's blight,
Of Earth an Eden make, and reign alone;
Then Man shall loathe the wrong, and choose the right,
Remorse and moral blindness be unknown.

V.

On shores far foreign, or remoter seas,
How doth poor Scotland's wanderer hail thy ray,
Blest Sabbath! and with “joy of woe” survey
In thought his native dwelling 'mid its trees—
And childhood's haunts—and faces well-beloved—
Friends of his soul by distance made more dear!
Oh! as fond Memory scans them with a tear,
By Manhood be it shed—and unreproved:
He thinks of times—times ne'er to come again—
Sweet times, when to the old kirk, hand in hand,
With those he loved in his far Fatherland
He wont on Sabbath morn to cross the plain!
Tell him, Religion, and 'twill soothe his pain,
All yet shall meet on Heaven's eternal strand.

VI.

Twilight's grey shades are gathering o'er the dell,
In the red west the sun hath shut his eye,
The stars are gathering in the conscious sky,
As, with a solemn sound, the curfew bell
Tolls thro' the breezeless air, as 'twere farewell
To God's appointed day of sanctity.
Scotland, I glory that throughout thy bounds
(And O! whilst holy canst thou be unblest?)
Each Sabbath is a jubilee of rest,
And prayer and praise almost the only sounds.
Richer and prouder other lands may be;
But, while the world endures, be this thy boast,
(A worthy one) that sunshine gilds no coast
Where Heaven is served more purely than in thee.