A Sabbath Round by C.J. Dennis

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Behold! The very scene's a benediction!
   The earth, the sky, all call to worship here.
Surely men's souls must garner sure conviction
   Of some high Presence in those heavens clear.
Surely no doubter, gazing on such beauty,
   Doubts still the Ruler of the stars and sun.
To see, to wonder is a prayer, a duty --
   Duty well done.

Below soft skies the velvet bent is sweeping
   To glorious vista where the fairways fall;
On high, a singing, soaring lark is keeping
   Tryst with the kindly Giver of it all.
How else could mortal be but humbly prayerful
   Amid these gifts munificently spread.
Yet -- careful, little man! Oh, do be careful!
   Don't lift your head!

Shall men bend low and hearken to dull droning
   In man-made cloisters on a day like this,
The very gifts of Providence disowning,
   Nature ignoring, and foregoing bliss?
Here, truly, is a benison, a glory,
   A wonder and a miracle indeed,
More manifest than any fabled story
   Of olden creed.

Nay, here is sanctuary. White clouds, trailing
   Their tattered fleeces into that great vault,
Make all your sculptured arches unavailing.
   Is to find joy in this a grievous fault?
Is it the wiser to preserve a habit
   Old and outworn, and so neglect it all?
But, wait. The game's important, Mr. Babbit.
   Eye on the ball!

First published in Stead's Review, 2 December 1929

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This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on December 2, 2013 7:21 AM.

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