SABBATH MORNING.
See! heaven wakes earth. There is an answering sigh
From the soft winds, as they unfurl their wings
Impalpable,—and touch the dimpling streams
Which the lithe willows kiss, and through the groves
Make whispering melody. Methinks the sea
Murmureth in tone subdued,—and nature smiles
As if within her raptured breast she caught
The breath of Deity.
Hail! hallowed Morn
That binds a yoke on Vice. Drooping her head,
She by her quaint hypocrisy doth show
How beautiful is Virtue. Eve will light
Her orgies up again—but at this hour
She trembleth and is still. Humility
From the cleft rock where she hath hid, doth mark
The girded majesty of God go by,
And kneeling, wins a blessing. Grief forgoes
Her bitterness—and round the tear-wet urn
Twines sweet and simple flowers. But most firm faith
Enjoys this holy season. She doth lift
Her brow and talk with seraphs,—till the soul
That by the thraldom of the week was bowed,
And crushed, and spent,—like the enfranchised slave
Doth leap to put its glorious garments on.