Classic Poem

Arise, ye nations, with rejoicing rise,
And tell your gladness to the listening skies;
Come out forgetful of the week's turmoil,
From halls of mirth and iron gates of toil;
Come forth, come forth, and let your joy increase
Till one loud pæan hails the day of peace.
Sing, trembling age, ye youths and maidens sing;
Ring, ye sweet chimes, from every belfry ring;
Pour the grand anthem till it soars and swells,
And heaven seems full of great aerial bells!
Behold the Morn from orient chambers glide,
With shining footsteps, like a radiant bride;
The gladdened brooks proclaim her on the hills,
And every grove with choral welcome thrills.
Rise, ye sweet maidens, strew her path with flowers,
With sacred lilies from your virgin bowers;
Go, youths, and meet her with your olive boughs;
Go, age, and greet her with your holiest vows;—
See where she comes, her hands upon her breast,
The sainted Sabbath comes, and smiles the world to rest.