AND now on earth the seventh

Evening arose in Eden, for the sun
Was set, and twilight from the east came on,
Forerunning night; when at the holy mount
Of heav'n's high-seated top, the imperial
throne

Of Godhead, fixed for ever firm and sure,
The Filial Power arrived, and sat him down
With his great Father; for he also went
Invisible, yet staid, (such privilege
Hath Omnipresence) and the work ordained,
Author and End of all things; and, from
work

Now resting, blessed and hallowed the se

venth day,

As resting on that day from all his work,
But not in silence holy kept; the harp
Had work and rested not; the solemn pipe
And dulcimer, all organs of sweet stop,
All sounds on fret by string or golden wire,
Tempered soft tunings, intermixed with
voice

Choral or unison: of incense clouds,
Fuming from golden censers, hid the mount.
Creation and the six-days' act they sing:
"Great are thy works, Jehovah! infinite
Thy power! What thought can measure

thee, or tongue

Relate thee! Greater now in thy return
Than from the giant angels: thee that day
Thy thunders magnified; but to create
Is greater, than created to destroy."

So sung they, and the empyrean rung With hallelujahs: thus was Sabbath kept.

THE SABBATH.

ᎻᎬᎡᏴᎬᎡᎢ,

O DAY most calm, most bright, The fruit of this, the next world's bud, Th' endorsement of supreme delight, Writ by a friend, and with his blood; The couch of time, care's balm and bay! The week were dark, but for thy light: Thy torch doth shew the way.

The other days and thou Make up one man; whose face thou art, Knocking at Heaven with thy brow: The workie days are the back part; The burthen of the week lies there, Making the whole to stoop and bow, Till thy release appear.

Man hath straight forward gone To endless death; but thou dost pull And turn us round to look on One, Whom, if we were not very dull, We could but choose to look on still; Since there is no place so lone,

The which he doth not fill.

Sundays the pillars are,
On which Heaven's palace arched lies:
The other days fill up the spare

And hollow room with vanities.
They are the fruitful beds and borders
Of God's rich garden: that is bare

Which parts their ranks and orders.

The Sundays of man's life, Threaded together on Time's string, Make bracelets to adorn the wife