I love thee, Sabbath morn!--I cannot say
But 'tis because my father loved thee so,--
Because my mother's care-worn face would grow
So sweetly placid in thy peaceful ray;--
It may be, _that_ is part of what endears
Thee, Sabbath, to my soul; for memory stirs
Old buried thoughts of his voice and of hers--
Heard never more on Earth--till sudden tears
So sadly sweet well up, I bid them flow,
They leave a Sabbath in the soul when past;
As when the sky, by April clouds o'ercast,
Shows fairer in the sun's returning glow.
I see the grass-grown lane we trod of old,
Dear father, sainted mother! while
The Sabbath sun looked down with loving smile,
And touched the hills and streams with rippling gold.
I hear your voices as ye talked, what time
In childish pride I walked before, and thought
This world a paradise, and Earth full-fraught
With blessedness and love,--a summer clime
Of changeless beauty!--Ah! those streams flow on,
Blue are those skies, as green the woods, as still
The Sabbath hush that foldeth vale and hill
In sweet embrace, but ye, beloved, are gone!
She sleeps in stranger dust.
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