Star.
London, England, 1822-05-20 00:00:00

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SUNDAY.

(nom CRAPS'S MOM. UOINSIO.

The labia* day, et every dey the belt,
rihenrolif man% iserpiness, a poor man sings;
Wow has so claim to break his rest,
And tbeliskt lones Sy swift en easy wisp.
'ghat hygiene. ibis heti mondng brings,
Hew soft its pinworm ea his senses steal ;
Bow sweet the vet nkalle first warning rings:
And 0 how asmentabis does he feel,
Wbsa with his Wally at ease he takes his early meal !
Ilit'citnitel fights kir Metal Mord,
And bath pond* in *nein am* they're poor ;
Wl...love's Sweet fillyskis crowd the lowly hoard,
Their little likemises is miniature.
Though-through the week he labour does endure,
And`welry limbs oft cause him to complain,

This weicesne ;morning always brings a gore;
It temnivrith joy? his soul to entertain,
Ant toublymreat appears the pleasure aftet• pain !
Ah, who can tell the bliss, from labour freed,
Its leisure meted' on a Sunda* morn '
Betio a chair, moll, godly•boek r;ad,
Or wandering mood to new the crops of corn,

In best clothes fitted out, and beard new shoes;
Dropping adown in some warm siselter'd del.
With six days' labour week, and weary wonsg
Lisening around each distant chiming bell,
That on the sofrning breeze melodiously doth swell!
And oft be takes his family abroad,
In shore excursions o'er the field and plain,.
Marking each little abject on his road, •
An insect, sprig of grass, and ear of grain ;
Endeavouring thus most simply to maintain
That the same Powaa that bids the mite to a awl,
That browns the wheat-lands in their summer-stain,
That Potions which formed the gm* flower withal,
Form'd all thee Mess and mares upon this earthly ball!
The bell, when Word its summons once and twice,
Now chimes in concert, calling all to prayers ; •
The rustic boy that bankers after vice,
And of Religion little knows or cares,
Scrapes up his marbles, and by force repairs,
Though dallying oil till the last bell has rung :
The good man there his book devoutly bears,
And often, u he walks the graves among,
Looks on the uatravell'd dust from whence his being sprung!
Hail, sacred Sabbath ! hail, thou poor man's joy!
Thou oft has been a comfort to my care,
When faint and weary with the week's employ
I met thy presence is my corner-chair,
Musing and bearing up with troubles there;
Thrice bail; thou heavenly boon! by Gon's decree
At first creation plann'd, that all might share,
Both man and beast, some hours from labour free
To offer thanks to Hu whose mercy sent us thee !
This day the field a sweeter clothing wean,
A Sunday scene looks brighter to the eye;
And hasc'ning on to Monday morning's cares
With double speed the wing'd hour gallops by.
How swift the sun streaks down the western sky,
Scarcely petceiv'd till it begins to wane,
When ploughboys mark his setting with a sigh,
Dreading the morn's approaching hour with pain,
When capon's restless calls awake to toil again!
As the day closes on its peace and rest,
The godly man sits down and takes " the Book,"
To close it in a manner deem'd the best ;
And for a suiting chapter doth be look,
That may for comfort and a guide be took;
He reads of patient Job, his trials' thrall,
How men are troubled when by Con forsook,
And prays with David to bear up with all ;
When bleep shuts up the scene, soft as the night dews fall!