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.