Sonnet - Iii

Oh, holy sabbath morn! thrice blessed day Of solemn rest, true peace, and earnest prayer. How many hearts that never knelt to pray Are glad to breathe thy soul-sustaining air. I sit within the quiet woods, and hear The village church-bell's soft inviting sound, And to the confines of the loftiest sphere Imagination wings its airy round; A myriad spirits have assembled there, Whose prayers on earth a sweet acceptance found. I go to worship in Thy House, O God! With her, thy young creation bright and fair; Help us to do Thy will, and not despair, Though both our hearts should bend beneath Thy chastening rod.