S A SABBATH SCENE. CARCE had the solemn Sabbath-bell Scarce had the parson to his desk A SABBATH SCENE. When down the summer shaded street A wasted female figure, With dusky brow and naked feet, She saw the white spire through the trees, Like a scared fawn before the hounds, She raised a keen and bitter cry, A score of stout hands rose between Age clenched his staff, and maiden eyes "Who dares profane this house and day?" Why, bless your soul, the wench 's a slave, "I've law and gospel on my side, "Of course I know your right divine 83 Plump dropped the holy tome, and o'er Bound hand and foot, a slave once more, I saw the parson tie the knots, Although," said he, "on Sabbath day, All secular occupations Are deadly sins, we must fulfil Our moral obligations: "And this commends itself as one To every conscience tender; As Paul sent back Onesimus, My Christian friends, we send her! Shriek rose on shriek, the Sabbath air I listened, with hushed breath, to hear All still! - the very altar's cloth Had smothered down her shrieking, And, dumb, she turned from face to face, For human pity seeking! I saw her dragged along the aisle, I heard the parson, over all, The Lord devoutly thanking! My brain took fire: "Is this," I cried, SABBATH SCENE. "Foul shame and scorn be on ye all And steal the Bible from the Lord, “Than garbled text or parchment law And God is true, though every book Just then I felt the deacon's hand I started up, where now were church, But, on the open window's sill, O'er which the white blooms drifted, The pages of a good old Book The wind of summer lifted. And flower and vine, like angel wings Waved softly there, as if God's truth And freely from the cherry-bough As bird and flower made plain of old So now I heard the written Word Interpreted by Nature! 85 For to my ear methought the breeze Bore Freedom's blessed word on; THUS SAITH THE LORD: BREAK EVERY YOKE, UNDO THE HEAVY BURDEN! Ο RANTOUL. NE day, along the electric wire His manly word for Freedom sped; We came next morn: that tongue of fire Said only, He who spake is dead!" Dead! while his voice was living yet, In echoes round the pillared dome! Dead! while his blotted page lay wet With themes of state and loves of home! Dead! in that crowning grace of time, Dead! he so great, and strong, and wise, From the high place whereon our votes We seemed to see our flag unfurled, For the last battle of the world, |