The Joy That Never Palls

It is the Sabbath morn. Soft smiles the heaven,
Far o’er the fields a blessed stillness falls:
Now to the weary soul once more is given
The joy that never palls.

Anon the welcome peal from belfry tower
On reverent hearts a perfect peace bestows,
Preluding service sweet. I note the hour,
And breathe a rich repose.

In grave procession to the house of prayer
The pious people flock, genteelly drest;
Nor need’st thou ask if I myself be there
On this, the day of rest.

Lest others tread the paths where pleasure calls,
For trivial, worldly joys let others search;
To me the bliss divine that never palls
Is—not to go to church.