THE SABBATH by Sabbath Recorder

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Jul 14, 1881

THE SABBATH.

By Sabbath Recorder

THE fifty-two Sabbaths of rest, with which the year is interspersed, are like patches of verdure watered by ever-springing fountains, that dot the inhospitable wilderness and invite its fainting travelers to exhilaration and repose. Oh! precious day!—the workman's jubilee—the shield of servitude—the antidote of weariness. How it smooths the brow of care. How it brightens the countenance of gloom. How it braves the enervated limbs of labor. How it revives the drooping spirit. How it gives wings to the clogged affections and aspirations of the soul. How it lifts the groveler from his low pursuits and fills him with a noble self-respect.

Companions of labor, have you ever attempted to compute the value of the Sabbath, even in this lowest of its uses, as a provision of rest for the body? Oh! glorious Sabbath, almoner and nurse of health. We, the children of toil, flee to the shadow of thy protection. Thou standest beside us like some guardian spirit, casting over us the shield of thy excellency, enfolding our jaded powers in thy sustaining arms, and saying to the encroaching tide of human selfishness, "Hitherto shalt thou come, but no farther, and here shall thy proud waves be stayed." May thy bulwarks, notwithstanding all hostile assaults, stand strong among us as the everlasting hills, and be in all coming ages for a refuge and a covert to the children of men.

A really sanctified Sabbath throughout the world would present one of the most interesting spectacles that could be witnessed on earth.

Look forth on a Sabbath morning when all is peaceful and quiet, as God designed the Sabbath to be, and behold! the delectable representation of the Sabbath-rest! Then every sound would breathe softer, every tint gleam brighter, every scene would appear fresher, and we might read in every softened feature of nature the sweet tranquility of the Sabbath-rest. The gates of the temple of mammon are shut, and the gods of silver and gold are forsaken by their week-day devotees.

The chiming bells, sounding alike across country and towns, are calling upon all men to cut the cords of their earth-bound thoughts and low cares, and go up to worship at the footstool of Jehovah.—Sabbath Recorder.