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the emigrant's sabbath day.
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Of youthful Samuel, early call'd to be
The chosen servant of the Deity;
Or where angelic hosts at night proclaim
The infant Saviour born in Bethlehem;
And as they listen still with fixed eye,
Traces the rugged path to Calvary,
Binds on the sinless brow the thorny crown,
Marks the dark stream of blood come flowing down,
Hears the last cry, sees how the rocks are riven,
Till parting clouds convey Him back to heaven,
Then shuts the holy volume to exclaim,
"My little flock, for you the Saviour came."

Eve brings its shadows,—all the western sky
Is hung with sunset's gorgeous drapery
Of gold and crimson—where the wearied sun
Spreads his rich couch, the day's long journey done.
The air is freshen'd, and the silver dew
Falls silently upon the violet's tender blue,
Softening its beauty—and the fair wild rose
Droops its young head, like childhood to repose.
The birds have sought their shelter;—each soft nest
Hides a wing'd rover, as on downy breast,