Let, in praise of God, the sound

Run a never-ending round,

That our holy hymn may be
Everlasting, as is He.

From the earth's vast hollow tomb,
Music's deepest bass shall come;
Sea and floods from shore to shore
Shall the counter-tenor roar.
To this concert, when we sing,
Whistling winds, your descant bring;
Which may bear the sound above
Where the orb of fire doth move;
And so climb from sphere to sphere,
Till our song th'Almighty hear.

So shall He, from Heaven's high tower
On the earth His blessings shower;
All this huge wide orb we see
Shall one choir, one temple be.

There our voices we will rear
Till we fill it everywhere;
Then, O come! with sacred lays,
Let us sound th' Almighty's praise!

GEORGE WITHER

THE HOLY DAYS

94

THE HEBREW'S FRIDAY NIGHT

Sweet Sabbath-Bride, the Hebrew's theme of praise,
Celestial maiden with the starry eyes,

Around thine head a sacred nimbus plays,
Thy smile is soft as lucent summer skies,
Before thy purity all evil dies.

In wedding-robe of stainless sunshine drest,
Thou dawnest on Life's darkness, and it dies;
The bridal-wreath is lilies Heaven-blest,

The dowry Peace and Love and Holiness and Rest.

For in thy presence he forgets awhile

The gloom and discord of man's mortal years,
To seek the light that streameth from thy face;
To list thy tender lullaby which cheers
His soul, and lies like music on his ears.
His very sorrows with soft splendor shine,
Transfigured by a mist of sacred tears;
He drinks thy gently offered Anodyne,
And feels himself absorbed into the Peace divine.

The Father from the Synagogue returns
(A singing-bird is nestling at his heart),

And from without the festive light discerns
Which tells his faithful wife has done her part
To welcome Sabbath with domestic art.

He enters and perceives the picture true,
And tears unbidden from his eyelids start,

As Paradise thus opens on his view,

And then he smiles and thanks God he is a Jew.

For "Friday-night" is written on his home

In fair, white characters; his wife has spread The snowy Sabbath-cloth; the Hebrew tome, The flask and cup are at the table's head; There's Sabbath magic in the very bread; And royal fare the humble dishes seem;

A holy light the Sabbath candles shed; Around, his children's shining faces beam; He feels the strife of every day a far-off dream.

His buxom wife he kisses; then he lays

Upon each child's young head, two loving hands Of benediction, so in after-days,

When they shall be afar in other lands,

They shall be knit to God and home by bands

Of sacred memory. And then he makes

The blessing o'er the wine, and while each stands,

The quaintly convoluted bread he breaks,

Which tastes to all to-night more sweet than honeyed cakes.

And now they eat the Sabbath meal with laugh
And jest and gossip till all fun must cease,
While Father chants the Grace, all singing half,
And then the Sabbath hymns of Love and Peace,
And Hope from alien lands to find release.

No evil can this night its head uprear;

Earth's joys loom larger, and its ills decrease; To-night of ghosts the youngest has no fearDoes not his guardian Sabbath Angel hover near?