Seventeenth Sunday after Trinity

O Holy Sabbath day!
Full of the purest bliss!
What treasure on life's way
Find we so fair as this?

Thou wert to God a rest,
Thou art a rest to man;
And they who know thee best
Hallow thee all they can.

Like little Isles of Heaven
Scatter'd thro' life's rough sea,
All round about storm-driven,
All calm and still on thee.

Like Eden-spots on earth,
Where curse hath never been,
Which dews of Heavenly birth
Keep ever pure and green.

Foot-prints — which mark, thro' time,
Where down its wastes have trod —
From old Creation's Prime, - —
The footsteps of our God!

Sweet day of holy calm!
With Heavenly sunshine bright!
Whose very air is balm
To those who use thee right.

The body, toil'd and worn
With work-day strife and care,
Doth unto thee return,
And finds refreshment there.

The anxious mind o'er- wrought —
To save the precious store —
Lays down its load of thought
Beside thy golden door!

The heart whose love would die
Crush'd out by toil for gain,
Finds home beneath thy sky,
And feels and loves again.

Were there no soul in man,
Had he no hope above,
This blessed Sabbath-plan
Would even then be love.

The wear and tear of life
Thus for awhile would cease.
Thus for awhile its strife
Give way to rest and peace.

And he would longer hold
That which he loves so well,
And with his gods of gold
On earth would longer dwell.

But, for the eternal soul!
Sweet day! what gain thou art!
Until we reach the whole,
O what a precious part!

Until we reach the bliss
Of worlds beyond the skies,
How dost thou colour this
With their immortal dyes!

The world is hush'd — the din
Of work-day life is o'er,
The sights and sounds of sin
Distract the sense no more.

The tide of life is set
To quiet haunts of prayer,
We for awhile forget
The rushing tide of care.

We hear the blessed Word,
We bend our knees, and pray,
Our inmost souls are stirred,
We tremble and obey.

Our daily sins we mourn,
Confess, and are forgiven,
In penitence return,
And we are nearer Heaven!

The Bread of Life we break,
Feed on that ' heav'nly food:'
The Cup of Life we take,
Are strengthen'd and renew'd.

O how such days help on
Along the Heavenly road,
Steps upward — one by one —
Into the rest of God.

Sweet Sabbath! still the same
As in the days of old,
Not lost, because Christ's Name
Is stamp'd upon thy gold.

With jealous care my heart
Watches, lest time deface
The very smallest part
Of thine accustomed grace

Freedom! I love it not!
If this its meaning be,
That Christian days have brought
Freedom to lower thee.

Thy name we need not lose,
Because thou didst array
Thyself in brighter hues,
Becoming ' the Lord's Day.'

Both names are dear and blest,
In each a meaning lies,
From making — God did rest,
In saving — Christ did rise.

As warp and woof unfold,
God weaves in one the two —
The strictness of the Old!
The freedom of the New!