The Sabbath is here; His love we will sing
Who sendeth the rain
Upon the young grain.
And soon all around
The sickle will sound.
And home the bright sheaves we will bring.
The Sabbath is here; in hope and in love
We sow in the dust,
While humbly we trust
Up yonder shall grow
The seed which we sow,
And bloom a bright garland above.
[THE CHILD AT HER MOTHER'S GRAVE.]
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN.
In that little room of thine,
Sweet sleep has come to thee;
Ah, mother! dearest mother mine!
O, call me to that room of thine!
O, shut it not from me!
I would so gladly be with thee,
And be thy child again;
'Tis cold and stormy here with me,
'Tis warm, and, O, so still with thee!
Ah! let me, let me in!
Thou took'st me gladly once with thee,
So gladly held my hand;
O, see, thou hast forsaken me!
Take me this time again with thee
Into the heavenly land.