As palmers went to hail the nichèd seat
At desert well, where they put off the shoon
And robe of travel, so I, a pilgrim as they,
Tired with my six-days' track, would turn aside
Out of the scorch and glare into the shade
Of Sunday-stillness.
The Resting Place. M.J. PRESTON.
But chiefly man the day of rest enjoys.
Hail, Sabbath! Thee I hail, the poor man's day.
The Sabbath. J. GRAHAME.
Yes, child of suffering, thou may'st well be sure,
He who ordained the Sabbath loves the poor!
Urania.. O.W. HOLMES.
SATIRE.
Prepare for rhyme—I'll publish, right or wrong:
Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.
English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. LORD BYRON.
Satire should, like a polished razor keen,
Wound with a touch that's scarcely felt or seen.
To the Imitator of the first Satire of Horace. Bk. II.
LADY M.W. MONTAGU.
Satire's my weapon, but I'm too discreet
To run amuck and tilt at all I meet.
Second Book of Horace. A. POPE.
Satire or sense, alas! can Sporus feel,
Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel?
Satires: Prologue. A. POPE.
SCANDAL.
Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer,
And, without sneering, teach the rest to sneer;
Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike,
Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike.
Satires: Prologue. A. POPE.