Page:Prometheus Bound, and other poems.djvu/103

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God's sabbath morning sweeps the waves:

I would not praise the pageant high,

And miss the dedicature:

I, drawn down toward the sunless graves

By force of natural things,—should I

Exult in only nature?

I could not bear to sit alone

In nature's fixed benignities,

While my warm pulse was moving.

Too dark thou art, O glittering sun,

Too strait ye are, capacious seas,

To satisfy the loving.

It seems a better lot than so,

To sit with friends beneath the beech,

And call them dear and dearer;

Or follow children as they go

In pretty pairs, with softened speech

As the church-bells ring nearer.

Love me, sweet friends, this sabbath day.

The sea sings round me while ye roll

Afar the hymn unaltered,

And kneel, where once I knelt, to pray,

And bless me deeper in your soul,

Because your voice has faltered.