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the emigrant's sabbath day.
Vainly, alas! they strain the anxious ear
The Sabbath bell's sweet harmony to hear—
No sacred temple, 'neath their glorious sky,
Points its tall spire, to lift the thoughts on high;
No voice proclaims the Gospel message blest,
Nor Christian worship marks the day of rest.
The mother, with a babe upon her knee,
Lulls its complaint with some low melody,
Musing, with eye half-dimm'd by gathering tears,
On the lov'd scenes of earlier, happier years,
In fancy seeks the village church again,
Joins in the prayer, and lifts the hallow'd strain,
Sings the sweet hymns she learned in childhood's day,
With friends beloved, in places far away.

The father, while his children cluster round,
Opens God's book, with reverence profound,
And reads some sacred story of the past,
Of him upon the Nile's dark waters cast,
A helpless babe, till she of high degree,
Proud Pharaoh's daughter, chanc'd the ark to see;
Of him, the shepherd boy, whose single blow
Brought great Goliah's boasted prowess low;