At close of day on Friday eve,
I paused to watch the setting sun.
A hallowed bliss its rays did leave —
Another week of toil was done.
The lurid sky, enwrapped with awe,
Bore witness to the Author's name
When thunder-voice proclaimed His law
On Sinai 'mid smoke and flame.
The holy glow immersed the sky,
And lent the clouds a sacred hue;
And there before my wond'ring eye
Vast nature voiced praise justly due
To Him who sanctified the day,
Whose laws as He Himself endure
Without a change to shade the way,
Or mar His Word, steadfast and sure.
His rapt'rous praise echoes anew
With each succeeding Sabbath day;
The perfumed flow'rs and sparkling dew
Reflect His smile in silent lay;
And sweet their incense to the skies
Ascend, to make His glory known;
While birds on joyful wings arise,
To laud their Maker on His throne.
Should man, creation's masterpiece,
Not doubly hail the day with joy,
And from his cares and labors cease,
To find that rest his blest employ?
Jehovah spake, "A sign 'twill be
'Twixt right and wrong; that men for aye
May know His just sovereignty,
I sanctify this seventh day."
The blessed hours to mortals giv'n,
To hold communion with their God,
Are mercy-sent to us from heav'n,
To cheer our path while here we plod
This mundane sphere of sin and wo;
But when we tread the heav'nly shore,—
Eden restored,—His day shall know
Transgression's blot, no, nevermore.
AMOS E. FLINT.
Granger, Wash.