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Felicia Dorothea Hemans - Sabbath Sonnet
Work rating: Medium

How many blessed groups this hour are bending, 
Through England`s primrose meadow-paths, their way 
Towards spire and tower, `midst shadowy elms ascending, 
Whence the sweet chimes proclaim the hallowed day! 
The halls from old heroic ages gray 
Pour their fair children forth; and hamlets low, 
With those thick orchard-blooms the soft winds play, 
Send out their inmates in a happy flow, 
Like a freed vernal stream. I may not tread 
With them those pathways, to the feverish bed 
Of sickness bound; yet, O my God! I bless 
Thy mercy, that with Sabbath peace hath filled 
My chastened heart, and all its throbbings stilled 
To one deep calm of lowliest thankfulness.
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