SABBATH EVE.
On Sabbath eve, how sad,
Yet sweet, the thoughts that come into the mind,
Unbid, but not unwelcome, and which find
Communion there, and to its solace add.
The world seems bright no more;
Its witching charms are gone, its voice is dumb:
Vainly its pleasures to the soul say "Come!"
The wish for their enjoyment now is o'er.
Thoughts of the dead are they
Which then we feel, low whispering to the heart,
Telling that we, like them, must soon depart,
And, with them, go to dull and cold decay.
How strange it is, in sooth,
That Sabbath morn and eve should, to the breast,
Weary with cares of life, bring thoughts of Rest—
Strong proof of its great purpose and its truth!