At eve the ploughman leaves the task of day
And, trudging homeward, whistles on the way: 
And the big-uddered cows with patience stand,
And wait the strokings of the damsel’s hand.
Rural Sport.  J. GAY.

                      Rustic mirth goes round;
  The simple joke that takes the shepherd’s heart,
  Easily pleased; the long loud laugh sincere;
  The kiss snatched hasty from the sidelong maid,
  On purpose guardless, or pretending sleep: 
  The leap, the slap, the haul; and, shook to notes
  Of native music, the respondent dance. 
  Thus jocund fleets with them the winter night.
The Seasons:  Winter.  J. THOMSON.

As in the eye of Nature he has lived,
So in the eye of Nature let him die!
The Old Cumberland Beggar.  W. WORDSWORTH.

  O for a seat in some poetic nook,
  Just hid with trees and sparkling with a brook.
Politics and Poetics.  L. HUNT.

  I care not, Fortune, what you me deny: 
  You cannot rob me of free Nature’s grace.
The Castle of Indolence, Canto II.  J. THOMSON.

  And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
  Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
  Sermons in stones, and good in everything.
As You Like It, Act ii.  Sc. 1.  SHAKESPEARE.

SABBATH.

    The cheerful Sabbath bells, wherever heard,
  Strike pleasant on the sense, most like the voice
  Of one who from the far-off hills proclaims
  Tidings of good to Zion.
The Sabbath Bells.  C. LAMB.

  The clinkum-clank o’ Sabbath bells
  Noo to the hoastin’ rookery swells,
  Noo faintin’ laigh in shady dells,
    Sounds far an’ near,
  An’ through the simmer kintry tells
    Its tale o’ cheer.

  An’ noo, to that melodious play,
  A’ deidly awn the quiet sway—­
  A’ ken their solemn holiday,
    Bestial an’ human,
  The singin’ lintie on the brae,
    The restin’ plou’man.
A Lowden Sabbath Morn.  R.L.  STEVENSON.

  Bright shadows of true rest! some shoots of bliss: 
    Heaven once a week: 
  The next world’s gladness prepossest in this;
    A day to seek;
    Eternity in time.
Sundays.  H. VAUGHAN.

  As palmers went to hail the niched seat
  At desert well, where they put off the shoon
  And robe of travel, so I, a pilgrim as they,
  Tired with my six-days’ track, would turn aside
  Out of the scorch and glare into the shade
  Of Sunday-stillness.
The Resting Place.  M.J.  PRESTON.

  But chiefly man the day of rest enjoys. 
  Hail, Sabbath!  Thee I hail, the poor man’s day.
The Sabbath.  J. GRAHAME.

  Yes, child of suffering, thou may’st well be sure,
  He who ordained the Sabbath loves the poor!
Urania..  O.W.  HOLMES.