Felicia Dorothea Hemans (Фелиция Доротея Хеманз)

Sabbath Sonnet

How many blessed groups this hour are bending,
Through England's primrose meadow-paths, their way
Towards spire and tower, 'midst shadowy elms ascending,
Whence the sweet chimes proclaim the hallowed day!
The halls from old heroic ages gray
Pour their fair children forth; and hamlets low,
With those thick orchard-blooms the soft winds play,
Send out their inmates in a happy flow,
Like a freed vernal stream. I may not tread
With them those pathways, to the feverish bed
Of sickness bound; yet, O my God! I bless
Thy mercy, that with Sabbath peace hath filled
My chastened heart, and all its throbbings stilled
To one deep calm of lowliest thankfulness.

1. Our Lady’s Well
2. The Child's First Grief
3. The Ivy of Kenilworth
4. A Remembrance of Grasmere
5. Lines Written for the Album at Rosanna

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1738

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