WITH each recurrence of this glorious morn That saw the Saviour in his human frame Rise from the dead, erewhile the Cottage-dame Put on fresh raiment -- till that hour unworn: Domestic hands the home-bred wool had shorn, And she who span it culled the daintiest fleece, In thoughtful reverence to the Prince of Peace, Whose temples bled beneath the platted thorn. A blest estate when piety sublime These humble props disdained not! O green dales! Sad may 'I' be who heard your sabbath chime When Art's abused inventions were unknown; Kind Nature's various wealth was all your own; And benefits were weighed in Reason's scales! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: EPILOGUE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS MONTEREY [SEPTEMBER 23, 1846] by CHARLES FENNO HOFFMAN ODES: BOOK 2: ODE 13. TO AUTHOR OF MEMOIRS OF HOUSE OF BRANDENBURGH by MARK AKENSIDE APPLE SAUCE! by EDITH GRACE BERKNESS THE BEAUTIFUL BEESHAREEN BOY by MATHILDE BLIND A NEW PILGRIMAGE: 7 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |