Poems (McDonald)/The Emigrant's Sabbath Day
THE EMIGRANT'S SABBATH DAY.
The morning breaketh, and the sacred day,Jehovah's Sabbath, calls each heart to pray;A deeper hush the universe pervades;A softer whisp'ring fills the forest shades;The streams go murmuring with a gentler flow,And sweeter breezes fan the vales below;Birds trill their notes, to fancy's ear less gay,In blest accordance with the sacred day; While flowers send up their incense thro' the dewsTo Him who robed them in their varied hues,Who filled each bell with fragrance, gave each budA richer dye, or some abundant good,And strewed them, gemlike, o'er the smiling land,Marks of his love, and wonders of his hand.Now on the breeze, from verdant valleys swellThe distant echoes of the Sabbath bell;To the rapt ear, as they were voiced from heaven,The mellow tones harmoniously are given;To humble fanes the villagers repair,Bow down the heart, and bend the knee in prayer,And hear from lips revered the message highOf Him who governs all immensity.
But turn awhile to other scenes than these—Lo! 'neath the shelter of umbrageous trees,Within some forest of the western wilds,In sweet seclusion, a rude cabin smiles.A little band, from regions far away,Here find a home—and happy children playOn the green sward, as careless and as free,As summer birds that build on every tree. Now breaks the day of rest—his labour done,Gladly the exile greets the coming sun.Hush'd every sound, the heavy axe is still,Nor waken'd echo haunts the wooded hill.'Tis silent all—the blue o'er-arching skyScarce answers to the wild birds' melody;Within the forest glades the dappled deerRoams undisturbed, nor dreams of danger near;All is so peaceful, beautiful, and still,He quaffs the stream without a thought of ill,Forgets the hunter's rifle flashing nigh,Nor turns, with quivering ear, to start and fly.
The sun rides on,—beside their cabin door,Within the tree's deep shadow—arching o'erIts branching arms, to shelter from the heatThe lowly roof and the green mossy seat—The emigrants repose;—to them the dayPasses serenely, ling'ringly away.Mem'ry retraces happier hours gone by,Dwells on past joys, with retrospective eye,Which thro' the lengthen'd vista brightly glow,With rainbow light, the future cannot know. Vainly, alas! they strain the anxious earThe Sabbath bell's sweet harmony to hear—No sacred temple, 'neath their glorious sky,Points its tall spire, to lift the thoughts on high;No voice proclaims the Gospel message blest,Nor Christian worship marks the day of rest.The mother, with a babe upon her knee,Lulls its complaint with some low melody,Musing, with eye half-dimm'd by gathering tears,On the lov'd scenes of earlier, happier years,In fancy seeks the village church again,Joins in the prayer, and lifts the hallow'd strain,Sings the sweet hymns she learned in childhood's day,With friends beloved, in places far away.
The father, while his children cluster round,Opens God's book, with reverence profound,And reads some sacred story of the past,Of him upon the Nile's dark waters cast,A helpless babe, till she of high degree,Proud Pharaoh's daughter, chanc'd the ark to see;Of him, the shepherd boy, whose single blowBrought great Goliah's boasted prowess low; Of youthful Samuel, early call'd to beThe chosen servant of the Deity;Or where angelic hosts at night proclaimThe infant Saviour born in Bethlehem;And as they listen still with fixed eye,Traces the rugged path to Calvary,Binds on the sinless brow the thorny crown,Marks the dark stream of blood come flowing down,Hears the last cry, sees how the rocks are riven,Till parting clouds convey Him back to heaven,Then shuts the holy volume to exclaim,"My little flock, for you the Saviour came."
Eve brings its shadows,—all the western skyIs hung with sunset's gorgeous draperyOf gold and crimson—where the wearied sunSpreads his rich couch, the day's long journey done.The air is freshen'd, and the silver dewFalls silently upon the violet's tender blue,Softening its beauty—and the fair wild roseDroops its young head, like childhood to repose.The birds have sought their shelter;—each soft nestHides a wing'd rover, as on downy breast, And head close crouched beneath its feathery dress,The wind-rock'd cradle soothes its weariness.The twilight deepens in the welkin blue,A few pale stars are glimmering faintly through—Night's sentinels. But hark! what voices raise,Within the forest depths, the hymn of praise?'Tis childhood's melody, in sweet accordBreaks forth the simple lay of hallow'd word,And when the trembling notes almost expire,A mother's tongue assists the timorous choir.
They cease—and borne upon the summer air,Come the firm tones of pure and earnest prayer.In solitary wilds that household bandKneel to the God of nations—he whose handHath guided safely thro' the parted dayTheir pilgrim footsteps, in the narrow way.They pray for home and friends, the dear ones bending,Perchance for them when twilight shades are blending,Before the mercy seat—but oh! the prayerMore fervently ascends, when pleading thereFor the pure light of heavenly truth, to blessTheir lonely home within the wilderness. They ask, that yet, amid the forests dim,May echo holy psalm, and pealing hymn;That once again, ere life's short day is gone,Their ears may list the Gospel's cheering tone,Proclaim'd by one commission'd from on high,To speak the message of the Deity.And when the day is past, and night's dark pallIs spread o'er earth,—while stars a festivalAre keeping in their high and holy home,And soft on human lids sweet slumbers come,The exiles rest, to greet in pleasant dreamsTheir native vales, green woods, and shining streams,Forgetful of the weary leagues that spreadBetween them and the land they long to tread.
Go forth, ye heralds—may the Gospel's voiceSoon bid the lonely wilderness rejoice.Tho' friends and home the emigrant has left,Still let him feel as not of all bereft;Bear to his ear, with all their thrilling power,The strains he learned to love in childhood's hour,The prayers which taught his youthful heart to riseOn faith's unfailing pinion to the skies; Spread the lov'd feast, and to the sacred boardInvite each trembling servant of the Lord;Seal with baptismal water infant brows;Join plighted hands, and sanction nuptial vows;Beside the bed of death speak words of peace,And soothe the spirit waiting its release;And when the last dark conflict shall be o'er,When sin and sorrow pain the soul no more,Then lay the form in dust with solemn prayer,And consecrate the ashes slumb'ring there.