lumbering waggon comes no more Along the well-worn street, nor busy tread Of envoy, hurrying on, by duty led, To bank, or warehouse, or to court of law. The myriad sounds have ceased, which nature saw Were fit to wait upon the day of toil; Nor mendicant nor ballad beggar foil The sacred rest with their assiduous song. And round the factory door the noisy throng Forgets to come as on the other days; Aside her task the weary seamstress lays, Now from the close and foul-aired workroom free. The toilsome shop is closed, and also he Who for the week stood there doth taste the sweets Of liberty awhile; the penman meets No more the tiring scroll; and now in chain The prisoner sits within his dungeon, wan And weary; but he hears some soothing strain Break through the thick and iron-girded wall; p. 137And then the heavy shackles seem to fall From off his feet; a strange emotion fills His soul, and through his wasted body thrills, When of the bygone days he thinks in sweet And lingering thought; and then his eyes to meet The scanty rays are turned, and on his mind Awhile the captive fate forgets to find Its deepest force or weary sigh to send. Turn from the city, and to country lend A passing thought. All labor is at rest. The plough lies set, point in the mottled breast Of half-tilled field; the flail is laid above The barn’s brown wall; the shining sickles move Not from their keep; the woodman’s axe is still; The golden sheaf doth not the feeder fill; The huntsman’s horn is hung behind the door; The delver’s spade stands idle on the floor; The horse and oxen run the open field, Set free to graze; the holloaing drivers wield No whip or goad, and all the swain is free; The laborer walks abroad, and turns to see, With favoring look, the toilings of his hand, And fruits of labor rising from the land; The rustic lovers saunter in the fields, To talk of love and reap the joy it yields. The tower-clock now the worship-hour relates, p. 138And every church the worshipper awaits. Then thither come the cottar and his wife, (Once fair, now furrowed with the cares of life,) With sons and daughters; and, behind them near, The jovial farmer and his wife appear. Then comes the county squire; till the seats, One after one, are full. Then shortly meets The people’s eager eye the tranquil face Of their beloved pastor, in his place. He kneels to God, and in deep fervour prays A sweet and powerful prayer; then he lays The open Bible down, and well expounds The message of the Saviour’s love, till bounds, For truths so hallowed, every tending heart In joy. Then praise is sung; a ready part Takes every voice to raise a worthy song, Which breaks from seat to seat the aisle along. Then kneel the people by the throne of grace To take the blessing, ere they part to pace Again 

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