With whose 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 oh my God! I bless

Thy mercy, that with Sabbath peace hath filled

My chastening heart, and all its throbbings stilled

To one deep calm of lowliest thankfulness.

Mrs. Hemans.