A STORMY SABBATH by Henry S. Washburne

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Nov 12, 1894

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 20, No. 53.

A STORMY SABBATH.

By Henry S. Washburne

Not many to thy sacred feasts, O Zion of our God to-day, Will upward haste with willing feet Their early sacrifice to pay! A few—the strong in manhood's might, And woman, venturesome for prayer, And youth, as buoyant as the light— May mingle in devotion there.

O Sabbath, to my soul most blest, Though clothed in sadness and in storm, Thou bringest to the weary, rest, As if thou cam'st in milder form! I hailed thee when thy mellow light Bathed spire and tree, and vale and hill, When every scene that charmed the sight In quiet whispered, "Peace, be still."

And now, as howls the angry blast And thickly falls the drenching rain, Faith sees the bow of promise cast Athwart the brow of heaven again; And something in this hour of strife, Through all the paths our feet have trod, Proclaims, amid destruction, life; Amid the frowns, the smile of God. —Henry S. Washburne.