St. Landry democrat. (Opelousas, La.) 1878-1894, 1884-04-05
TIE sHoRe1RE,s SUNDAY REsE.

TIE SHOPGIRL'S SUNDAY REST.
SCENE-A small attic containing narrow cot,
chair. a table, and few articles of neces-
S1ty. TIME-Near midnight. Enter girl
poorly clad, wan and staggering with
fatigue.
AT last I'm home, and oh! so tired, tired, tired
to very death!
1t work, work, work, till one has neither
strength nor even breath.
But this is Saturday, and here smy little peace
full nest
Where can have, all by myself, good long
Sunday rest.
All through the week I've counted, counted on
this precious hour;
That thought alone has kept me up, alone gave
me the power
To finish all the weary work, to live through
days oppressed,
So tired SO tired, and longing, praying for
Sunday rest.
Here is my candle; there's my little bed, so
You're dear to me, you little cot, just now
above all price;
And once when I'm in bed / II sleep, and sleep
with happy zest,
For am tired, 50 tired, and want long, long
Sunday rest
u ought to eat, no doubt, but Tn not hungry
in the least
And couldn't eat if were seated at rich
mans feast;
But let me make acup of tea-tbat may per-
haps be best
And yet 1 only care for rest, for one long sun
day rest.
ALI day Til sleep; to-InorroW's sun shall never
make me rise;
I'll peep at him between the shades as he as
cends the skies;
But here Ill sleep and dream as he goes on
from east to west
For have wept, and wept, for one long, quiet
Sunday rest
IN light my spiritlamp and heat the water for
some tea;
Here's sugar and little milk. How very nice
twill be!
T. do declare that, after all, I'm very, very
best
For shall not be happy when have my SUN
day rest?
Make haste and heat, good water. Waiting is
/ sleep almost while you are heating, so heavy
is my head;
Yes, good is tea, and good are many things;
but best-oh, best
sof all the world for mes long, delightful
Sunday rest.
The light is out, and here am upon my
pillow.
How sweet it is! All me! what made my head
then 1utter so?
I'm weak; but I'll be strong on Monday, when
I'm up and dressed,
For then shall have had my precious, precious
Sunday rest.
And is it morn? All, yes, for there's the sun
far up the sky,
And oh! it makes my heart so glad that I'm
allowed to lie;
For it is Sunday, Sunday true, and have got
my guest
Here can stay, and have my long, delicious
Sunday rest.
I dreamed was child again, and at the dear
old farm,
So sweet, SO calm, where wickedness came not.
q
Oh, motherl motherl let me lie once more
upon your breast
For there alone my heart can find perfect
Sunday rest.
wonder what they're doing now, dear mother,
father, Jack.
must give up the shop, and, soon as am
strong, go back,
For there, though we were poor, in peace and
love we yet we're blest.
And all our days were like blissful Sunday
rest.
] can not well make out-there's such ring
How faint am! Those sounds, those pleasant
soundsl Is some one near?
Oh no; only dream. In attics no one comes
as guest.
I'm quite alone: No friend or foe win break
my Sunday rest
i hear my little sister Betsie's voice-but she
is deadl
Yes, yes, I see her now; she smooths my pill
low. soothes my head.
i can not breathe. What is itweighs SO heavy
on my breast?
oh. come, dear Betsie lie with me, and take
your Sunday rest.
How strange 1t isl How dark and cold! All
mel am so weak.
oh, where is mother, where is Betsie? Some
one-some one speak,
Oh yes, will be up--oh, speak-on Monday
up and dressed
can't-I do not see-who calls?-I come-my
-Sunday-rest!
y moan, qufckened breath, and there, upon
the pillow hushed,
She lay, SO wan, and yet SO fair, but like a
flower crushed;
And on her bosom lay her thin white hands, |
together pressed
And marble cold. She'd found an everlasting
Sunday rest.
20. B. Bunce, il, Harper's Bazaar.