And shines into the breast.
J. K. Mitchell.
Too soon our earthly Sabbaths end!
Cares of a work-day will return,
And faint our hearts, and fitful, burn:
O, think, my soul, beyond compare,
Think what a Sabbath must be there;
Where all is holy bliss, that knows
Nor imperfection, nor a close.
Thomas Grinfield.