THE

POOR MAN'S SABBATH.

I.

AMIDST the winds that blustering, hollow howl,
The frosts, that creep cold on the budding spray,
The fires that glare, the clouds that deepening scowl,

In life's low vale, with soul-depressing sway;

Say, Muse, what lights the poor man on his way, Gives him to drink at cool Contentment's spring, Sheds on his weary soul a cheering ray,

And bids him soar on Hope's angelic wing:

The Sabbath day divine, the Poor Man's Sabbath sing,

II.

Hail! holy day, of heav'n the certain pledge,
And pleasing prelibation here below;
'Tis thine, Creation's groaning to assuage,

And bind with balmy hand her wounds of woe.
Rejoicing in the morning's ruddy glow,

The labouring Ox, all wet with pearly dew,-
The clover'd dale at will traverses slow,

While idly gleams upon the distant view,
Far o'er the fallow field, the glittering soil-worn plough.

III.

Yea, e'en the simple Ass, the daily drudge
Of yonder wandering ignominious train,
The thistle champs along the common's edge,
And lightsome ease obliterates all his pain.
But chief, in freedom from the weary wain
Exulting, roams at large the bounding Steed;

Light floats upon the breeze his flowing mane,
He snorts, he paws, he skims the flow'ry mead;
The Sabbath day to hin a day of joy indeed,

IV.

There too, his flock with care the Farmer feeds,
While yet his household lies reclined in sleep;
This, on the part of labour, mercy pleads,
Labour, that still an early hour must keep.
And he that would to meditation deep,
Or exercise devout, his mind apply,

Will find the path a dreary, barren steep,
If drowsy slumbers hang upon his eye,
And.nature unrefresh'd pour forth the languid sigh.

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And down the vale, where, yet unmelted,' fly
The morning clouds around his humble home,
Wrapt up in holy contemplation high,

Behold the week-worn Cottar slowly roam.
On every hand the fragrant flow'rets bloom;
A hymn of joy in every thicket rings;

Earth breathes a grateful off'ring of perfume, While blithe the lark extends his dewy wings,

And, soaring up to heaven, a heaven-taught sonnet sings..

VI.

All this he ponders o'er with silent joy;

With gratitude and love his heart o'erflows,
Yet grieved to think, that oft with base alloy

Is mix'd the tribute which his soul bestows.
In rev'rence deep, his head he humbly bows,
And lifts to Heav'n a supplicating eye;

Great are his wants, but words their utterance lose, Dumb on his tongue his mighty cravings lie,

And burden'd sore, his soul pours forth a broken sigh.

VII.

And sighs are language, in th' all-gracious ear
Of Him who sits supreme on Mercy's throne,
Who kindly marks the penitential tear,

And of the broken sp'rit the faintest groan.—
The meltings of the heart, will He disown,
The heart enraptured with His goodness? No→→

A gracious answer to his sigh comes down, Warm on his soul the streams of mercy flow,

And kindling in his breast, Heaven's holy ardours glow.

VIII.

Now, in his love, his friends and family share,
Before his God he spreads their every case,
Implores that he would make them all his care,
And fold them ever in his warm embrace;
But chiefly for his little infant race,

As yet unpractised in the world's vile ways;
That, by the influence of his special grace,.
Conducted through life's dark and troubled maze,
Their last end may be peace, their whole lives speak

his praise.

IX.

Nor end his fervours here-his native land,
So long the happy scene of gospel grace,
He prays that God would in his love command
For it a large and everlasting peace;

That on this day her sons may never cease, While breathes the Spring, or Summer gilds the vale, Or pensive Autumn shews her sallow face,

Or Winter rude, rides on the roaring gale,

Christ's triumph over Death, with raptur'd hearts to hail.