Far from the city’s worn and narrow streets,
To sunny slopes embowered by Nature’s sweets,
How blest the change; to breathe the scented air,
Steals for the moment every sense of care,
Its healing powers to all new life impart,
Expand the mind and elevate the heart. 
But now arrived at the appointed place,—­
A rural spot adorned with every grace,
Which Nature from her bounties could bestow,
To make the world a paradise below,—­
Our party pause a moment to reflect;
Then towards a path their several steps direct,
Which leads the way to some sequestered seat,
Secured by foliage from the noonday heat;
Or to the various sports their tastes incline,
Where art and nature, toil and skill combine
To give to all a welcome warm and kind,
That every weary heart sweet rest may find. 
Here a few friends in social cheer are met,
Discoursing topics which such scenes beget;
And there a crowd, intent on sports more gay,
In lively measure tread the hours away. 
Some roam in groups through fields and meadows green,
And laden with the fragrant spoils are seen,
Bedecked with crowns from Flora’s own fair hand,
A radiant company from Fairy-land. 
Apart from this another group behold,
A burden sweet their little arms unfold—­
Lilies, fit emblem, when by childhood twined,
Of purity and innocence combined. 
But hark! what sound is pealing through the air? 
A summons from their sports to join in prayer;
Come one and all, your voices mingle here,
To bless His presence who is ever near. 
From east and west they come, from south and north,
From every path and thicket issuing forth,
Till all together seated once again,
The songs of worship and of praise begin. 
Up to the throne of Heaven their prayers ascend,
Together rich and poor their voices blend;
While with their songs unite the feathered choir,
With gratitude each spirit to inspire,
Till hill and valley echo all around,
And “God’s first temples” with His praise resound. 
And look! for now again the scene is changed;
A group before that rustic altar ranged,
With bended knee the throne of grace implore,
On infant heads its showers of love to pour;
That infant tongues may lisp the praise of God,
To guide their feet in paths by Jesus trod. 
Sure, angels hallow scenes like this below,
And holy spirits at that altar bow,
Like winged messengers from Heaven, to bear
These offerings, and ever guard them there,
That every bud of promise reared below,
May bloom in Heaven, and to perfection grow. 
But fast in scenes like this the day is spent;
Again toward home their weary steps are bent. 
Weary with pleasure, they reluctant go,
Once more the toils and cares of earth to know: 
But purified, and strengthened for the strife
Of labor, and the busy scenes of life;
While the remembrance of those happy hours