For somehow, though they call it wrong,
In church I cannot kneel
With half the natural thankfulness
And piety I feel
When out, on such a day as this,
I lie upon the sod,
And think that every leaf and flower
Is grateful to its God;
That I, who feel the blessing more,
Should thank Him more than they,
That I can elevate my soul
On a sunny Sabbath day.
Put on your shawl, and let us go;
For one day let us think
Of something else than daily care,
Or toil, and meat, and drink:
For one day let our children sport
And feel their limbs their own:
For one day let us quite forget
The grief that we have known:--
Let us forget that we are poor;
And, basking in the ray,
Thank God that we can still enjoy
A sunny Sabbath day.
What can be more natural,--what more plausible,--what more
rational,--what more pious? Yet it means forgetfulness of God,
forgetfulness of Christ, forgetfulness of duty, forgetfulness of
immortality. It means self, and sin, and ruin. And so it is with a
multitude of other sweet poems. One of the sweetest singers that ever
received a poetic soul from God, ignores Christ and Christianity.
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