Classic Poem

The Sabbath morn! How beautiful,
How peaceful and how blest;
An Angel's whisper seems to lull
The weary world to rest.

Hark! how the churchbell's music steals
From yonder sacred fane;
Then echoes, like a heavenly sound,
O'er neighboring hill and plain.

And see! along each different way,
To yonder temple fair,
With soft, slow step, and solemn mien,
The village folk repair.

And now, great Nature sends on high
Her orison of prayer,
And wears upon her sacred face
A smile divinely fair.