[Read the following poetical effusion on Sunday. The writer says well. “our Sabbath;” for certainly the Lord never owned it as his.—Ed.]
The ancient Sabbath was an end—a pause—
A stillness of the world : the work was done!
But ours commemorates a work begun.
Why, then, subject the new to antique laws?
The ancient Sabbath closed the work, because
The world was finish’d. Ours proclaims the sun,
Its glorious saint, alert its course to run.
Vanguard of days! escaped the baffled jaws
Of slumberous dark and death—so fitly first
In Sunday rank’d before the secular days;
Unmeetly clad in weeds, with arms reversed,
To trail in sullen thought by silent ways.
Like the fresh dawn, or rose bud newly burst,
So let our Sabbath wear the face of praise!
[HARTLEY COLERIDGE.]