The Sabbath Breaker

One pleasant morn, o’er hill and plain
The sunbeams brightly fell,
And loudly o’er the steepled fane
Rung out the Sabbath bell.

And they who loved the day of rest,
Went forth with one accord,—
Each in the way he deemed the best,
To wait upon the Lord.

But not with these, in lane or street
Was Henry seen that day;
He had not learned to turn his feet
To wisdom’s pleasant way.

But he God’s holy day would take
With wicked boys to rove
In search of walnut trees to shake
Throughout the woody grove.

With basket o’er his shoulders thrown,
His garments soiled and torn,
Young Henry sauntered from the town
This pleasant Sabbath morn.

His widowed mother, sick and poor,
Had taught him better things;
And thus to see him leave her door,
Her heart with sorrow wrings.

She tried God’s holy Book to heed,
As it before her lay;
But while she sought the words to read,
Her thoughts were far away.

The sun his parting radiance shed,—
Each hour increased her care,
When stranger steps with heavy tread
Came up her narrow stair.

And in their arms her son they bore,
Insensible and pale,
While many a stain of crimson gore
Revealed the hapless tale.

He’d spent the day amid the wood
In happiness and glee,
And, just at eve, triumphant stood
Upon a lofty tree.

The bough, the very topmost bough,
Beneath his weight gave way,
And on the rocks quite senseless now
The wretched sufferer lay.

With mangled flesh, and laboring breath,
And sadly fractured limb,
For many a week he lay till death
A mercy seemed to him.

Yet, ere its bonds the spirit burst,
Deep penitence was given;
And thus, for Jesus’ sake, we trust,
He found a home in heaven.