The Sabbath Morning

The Sabbath Morning

by John Leyden

With silent awe I hail the sacred morn,

That slowly wakes while all the fields are still!

A soothing calm on every breeze is borne;

A graver murmur gurgles from the rill;

And echo answers softer from the hill;

And softer sings the linnet from the thorn:

The skylark warbles in a tone less shrill.

Hail, light serene! hail, sacred Sabbath morn!

The rooks float silent by in airy drove;

The sun a placid yellow lustre throws;

The gales that lately sighed along the grove,

Have hushed their downy wings in dead repose;

The hovering rack of clouds forgets to move--

So smiled the day when the first morn arose!