Poems (Louisa Blake)/Sabbath Eve
SABBATH EVENING.
How calm the evening of the hallow'd day!
The noisy sound of wheels has long since ceased,
The tread of footsteps died upon my ear;
The glorious moon has risen in the heaven,
And casts a soften'd lustre all around.
The noisy sound of wheels has long since ceased,
The tread of footsteps died upon my ear;
The glorious moon has risen in the heaven,
And casts a soften'd lustre all around.
'Tis now the mind disposed for contemplation
Can look above this sublunary world;
Can in imagination travel far,
To distant realms, unknown to mortal sight,—
Can roam through regions of infinity,
Can lift the curtain of futurity,
And see what is to be. Can look far back
To ages that have pass'd, and see what has been.
Can look above this sublunary world;
Can in imagination travel far,
To distant realms, unknown to mortal sight,—
Can roam through regions of infinity,
Can lift the curtain of futurity,
And see what is to be. Can look far back
To ages that have pass'd, and see what has been.
Oh, thou Almighty God! at this lone hour,
When all around is sunk in calm repose,
Oh, may my grateful thoughts ascend on high!
My feeble voice join the great song of praise
Which nature round is offering unto thee.
May every worldly, sinful thought be hush'd,
And may devotion's pure and gentle flame
Glow in my heart, and influence my life;
May mild religion be my guide through life—
May it support me in the hour of death;—
And when at last that solemn hour shall come,
When death shall lay his cold and icy hand
Upon my heart, and bid its beatings cease,
May my glad spirit, freed from cumbrous clay,
Shake off the load that kept it prisoner here,
And take its upward flight, to join the choirs
Of happy angels, who surround thy throne;
Unite with them in their great song of praise,
And sing eternal glory to thy name.
When all around is sunk in calm repose,
Oh, may my grateful thoughts ascend on high!
My feeble voice join the great song of praise
Which nature round is offering unto thee.
May every worldly, sinful thought be hush'd,
And may devotion's pure and gentle flame
Glow in my heart, and influence my life;
May mild religion be my guide through life—
May it support me in the hour of death;—
And when at last that solemn hour shall come,
When death shall lay his cold and icy hand
Upon my heart, and bid its beatings cease,
May my glad spirit, freed from cumbrous clay,
Shake off the load that kept it prisoner here,
And take its upward flight, to join the choirs
Of happy angels, who surround thy throne;
Unite with them in their great song of praise,
And sing eternal glory to thy name.