Джеймс Грэм (James Grahame)

The First Sabbath

Six days the heavenly host, in circle vast,
Like that untouching cincture which enzones
The globe of Saturn, compass'd wide this orb,
And with the forming mass floated along,
In rapid course, through yet untravell'd space,
Beholding God's stupendous power, — a world
Bursting from chaos at the omnific will,
And perfect ere the sixth day's evening star
On Paradise arose.  Blessed that eve!
The Sabbath's harbinger, when, all complete,
In freshest beauty from Jehovah's hand,
Creation bloom'd; when Eden's twilight face
Smiled like a sleeping babe.  The voice divine
A holy calm breathed o'er the goodly work;
Mildly the sun, upon the loftiest trees,
Shed mellowly a sloping beam.  Peace reign'd,
And love, and gratitude; the human pair
Their orisons pour'd forth; love, concord, reign'd.
The falcon, perch'd upon the blooming bough
With Philomela, listen'd to her lay;
Among the antler'd herd, the tiger couch'd
Harmless; the lion's mane no terror spread
Among the careless ruminating flock.
Silence was o'er the deep; the noiseless surge,
The last subsiding wave, — of that dread tumult
Which raged, when Ocean, at the mute command,
Rush'd furiously into his new-cleft-bed, —
Was gently ripping on the pebbled shore;
While, on the swell, the sea-bird with her head
Wing-veil'd, slept tranquilly.  The host of heaven,
Entranced in new delight, speechless adored;
Nor stopp'd their fleet career, nor changed their form
Encircular, till on that hemisphere, —
In which the blissful garden sweet exhaled
Its incense, odorous clouds, — the Sabbath dawn
Arose; then wide the flying circle oped,
And soar'd, in semblance of a mighty rainbow
Silent ascend the choirs of Seraphim;
No harp resounds, mute is each voice; the burst
Of joy and praise reluctant they repress, —
For love and concord all things so attuned
To harmony, that Earth must have received
The grand vibration, and to the centre shook;
But soon as to the starry altitudes
They reach'd, then what a storm of sound tremendous
Swell'd through the realms of space! The morning stars
Together sang, and all the sons of God
Shouted for joy! Loud was the peal; so loud
As would have quite o'erwhelmed the human sense;
But to the earth it came a gentle strain,
Like softest fall breathed from AEolian lute,
When 'mid the chords of the evening gale expires.
Day of the Lord! creation's hallow'd close!
Day of the Lord! (prophetical they sang,)
Benignant mitigation of that doom
Which must, ere long, consign the fallen race,
Dwellers in yonder star, to toil and woe!

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