For failing food, six days in seven, Is it a crime to worship Thee? "We waited long, and sought Thee, Lord," Content to toil, but not to pine; And with the weapons of thy Word Thy truth and Thee, we bade them fear; THE POOR MAN'S DAY. GRAHAME. SABBATH holy ! Still art thou a welcome day. When thou comest, earth and ocean, Sun-waked forest! Bird, that soarest O'er the mute, empurpled moor! Throstle's song, that stream-like flowest! Wind, that over dewdrop goest! Welcome now the woe-worn poor. Little river, Young for ever! Cloud, gold-bright with thankful glee! Happy woodbine, gladly weeping! Gnat, within the wild rose keeping! Oh, that they were bless'd as ye! Sabbath holy! For the lowly Paint with flowers thy glittering sod; For affliction's sons and daughters, Bid thy mountains, woods, and waters, Pray to God, the poor man's God! From the fever, Where on Hope Want bars the door,) From the gloom of airless alleys, Lead thou to green hills and valleys Weary Lordland's trampled poor! Pale young mother! Sister, toiling in despair! Grief-bow'd sire, that life-long diest ! White-lipp'd child, that sleeping sighest! Still God liveth ; Still he giveth What no law can take away; And, oh, Sabbath! bringing gladness Unto hearts of weary sadness, Still art thou "The Poor Man's Day!" HYMN. To live in vain! to live in pain! Is this the doom of godlike man, Oh, God of Love and Gladness? Not so the rose in summer blows, Not so the moon her changes knows, Not so the storm his madness. From storms that rock the oak to sleep, So man, by painful ages taught, Else, what a lie were written wide, O'er all thy vales of growing gold; Or where, on mountains black with cold, Thy clouds to battle gather. PRAYER. BLESS'D be thy name, Eternal One! And from all evil guard us well : All glory, and all sov'reignty. THE IMITATED LANE. Now, Landscape-Maker, that with living trees Shading or brightening self-taught branch or flower, Or lead thee through a cloudlet of green gloom, |