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And soon may I reach that blest mansion afar,
Where the toils of this journey are o'er;
Where the pale rising moon, and the mild evening star
Shall shed their weak lustre no more.
SABBATH MORNING.
CANST thou let thy spirit lie
Cold with inactivity;
Canst thou press thy couch of rest,
Cherish torpor in thy breast,
On the day thy God has chose,
On the day thy Saviour rose?
Break the seal that binds thine eyes,
Sleeper! from thy sleep arise!
Wake, as morning wakes from night,
Rise, and Christ shall give thee light.
