The End of the Week.

—Sydney Grey.

HOW sweetly sounds the vesper chime
When weekly toil is done,
And in the tranquil even time
The Sabbath seems begun?

The cottage fires its beacon flings,
The sounds of labour cease;
Tired feet turn home, and twilight brings
A benison of peace.

‘Tis like the hush which fall on men
Before some hallowed way;
Or the soft pause of silence, when
The children kneel to pray.

Or, Like the restful calm of age,
Prelude ere life be gone
Of our eternal heritage
The heavenly Sabbath Dawn.

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