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.