Up, cleanse yourselves
From this dark vestige of a barbarous age,
Sons of the Gospel's everlasting light!
Nor let a brother of your own blest clime
Rear'd in your very gates, participant
Of freedom and salvation's birthright, find
Less favor than the heathen.
It would seem
That man who for the fleeting breath he draws
Is still a debtor and hath nought to pay,
He, who to cancel countless sins expects
Unbounded clemency, 'twould seem that he
Might to his fellow-man be pitiful,
And show that mercy which himself implores.
SABBATH EVENING IN THE COUNTRY.
Suggested by a Picture.
I've seen upon the City's bound
The Sabbath Evening close,
But thoughtless throngs with varied sound
Disturb'd its blest repose;
I've mark'd it o'er the rural scene
Unfold its stainless wing serene
While hush'd to concord sweet,
Breeze, grove, and dell and stream combin'd
To sooth that silence of the mind
Which woos the Paraclete.
