The Sabbath

By MRS. S. M. I. HENRY,

          (Sanitarium.)

WHEN the busy work of the week was done,

With the last faint glow of the setting sun,

The Sabbath stole softly into my room,

Her garments sweet with a strange perfume.

'T was the breath of Eden, before a leaf

Had fallen to hint that life was brief, —

Before the dews of that garden fair

Had woven a cloud for the light to wear.

In changeless calm on her quiet breast

Was folded Jehovah's perfect rest ;

And her hands were filled with gifts, to prove

truth of that Prince whose name .is Love.

A sweet old charm about, her clung,

Of the time when the days of earth were young,

Before their shadows had dreamed of fears,

Or ever their nights were wet with tears,

A something prophetic was in her face ;

And my chamber became a holy place

As she opened to me an ancient book,

And a wondrous truth from its casket took, —

A Word, with whose entering cometh light,

And a faith that far transcendeth sight, —

The answering of a thousand prayers,

And the peaceful ending to strifes and cares.

Blest day of days I thy deepest shades

Are shot with a light that never fades ;

Thou boldest in every briefest hour

The hiding of Great Jehovah's power.

And to thee is given the golden key

That unlocks the secret of things to be,

That keepeth the wealth of ages sure

For the children of light — the loving and pure.

RH Jan. 5, 1897  Vol. 74 No. 1