V. The Sabbath Day — After the Sermon
By Violet Miriam Beck
How sweet is the midday air!
The waving trees by the road bow fair!
Jesus hath come, and with kind control,
Hath rested the soul.
The heart may forget
Its fret.
It is Sabbath day! The long hours of the afternoon
Pass too soon.
I will go a while apart
And commune with mine own heart.
By the line of poplars, tall and free,
Is the little family cemetery,
Where grandfather lies,
And the babies who never opened their eyes,
And the gentle one, patient and fair,
With mild blue eyes and snow-white hair.
This is where Aunt Nettie lies,
“Quietly awaiting the resurrection,
When our loved one shall come forth
To receive the crown of glory,
Awaiting her on that glad morning.” Here is the lamb of stone
Which the children claim their own.
They do not know
Of the lad who lies below.
They pat its back and smooth white head.
They do not remember the others who lie here dead. What can the living know of death?
To breathe no more the warm, sweet breath
Of the spring day;
No more to say,
“The light is fair
And golden where
Its gleam rests on the stream.”
No more to look above, and say,
“The sky is blue,
And a bird cleaves its clearness through.”
No more to say:
“The sunbeams slant from the west,
On the poplars quivering leaf by leaf.
Know they aught of sorrow and grief?
Soon will come pleasant night,
With its rest
And its relief.” Yes, night has come to these,
Lying in their beds under the trees;
Sweet night, where there is no more pain,
No more pain!
And Jesus will come again.
Yes, Jesus will come again.
After the long, long rest of the night,
There will come the morning light,
And loved ones will know each other again.