To one deep calm of lowliest thankfulness.”
And, since I have been no longer bound to the sick-bed, but only to the house, my thankfulness has deepened under a cheerful sense of alleviated pains and added blessings; so that I may sincerely say my home-kept Sabbaths have generally been very calm and sweet.
I have made out a little routine for myself, which I adhere to pretty closely. Having early in life acquired the habit of rising betimes, I have no temptation to curtail the Sunday by lying in bed; nor is Phillis so overworked as to need, or even to wish for, an extra hour’s sleep. I therefore hear her stirring as soon as the clock strikes six; and, till she comes to afford me a little assistance at seven, I lie tranquilly cogitating on God’s mercies, lifting up my heart to Him, and almost invariably repeating that hymn of Hugh White’s, which so fitly opens the invalid’s Sunday.
“Let me put on my fair attire,
My Sabbath robes of richest dress,
And tune my consecrated lyre,
Lord of the Sabbath! thee to bless.
“Oh, may no spot of sin to-day
My raiment, clean and white, defile!