Transcribed from the [1820?] Parry and Son edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org [Picture: Public domain cover] SABBATH-BREAKING ON THE CANAL. A POEM. * * * * * BY THE REVEREND JOHN CLUTTON, A.M. PREBENDARY OF HEREFORD. * * * * * _Respectfully dedicated to the Reverend John Davies_, _A.M._ _Rector of St. Clement’s_, _Worcester_. * * * * * WHILE COMMERCE, crown’d with wealth, extends her reign, The Sons of labour swell her length’ning train; O’er hill and dale she forms the winding road, Where the slow team scarce drags the pond’rous load; She digs the deep Canal; with ease the horse Draws massive cargoes on the humid course; Her various stores she hastens to impart, And for her treasures finds a ready mart. Ye Sons of labour, hail! your hardy hands With plenty decorate our smiling lands; The jetty ore that feeds the cheerful flame, The freighted vessels, still your toil proclaim: From distant lands the tide of Commerce flows, And weighty burdens on your shoulders throws; The general weal your anxious cares promote, But few your never-ceasing toils will note, Hard toils exacted on the Sabbath days; Ah! thus ye wander from God’s holy ways: To heav’n ascends the cry of your distress, And may the King of heav’n your wrongs redress. Yon bark, that sails the flowery bank beside, Contains a soul for which the Saviour died, Which in the heights of heav’n, or depths of hell, Is destin’d through eternity to dwell: The Sabbath smiles; but, bound with Satan’s chain, On Mammon’s slave the Sabbath smiles in vain: The bells that utter their melodious chime Each Sabbath day, at morning’s hour of prime, Convey no music to the boatman’s ear, Intent his course towards ruin’s gulph to steer; Still on the Sacred Day his bark he plies, Nor stops to worship Him who rules the skies. Will none commiserate his hapless case, Nor bid him seek Jehovah’s saving grace? “In Zion woe to them that are at ease” {2a} Denounc’d the prophet; who themselves would please. “The plague, the famine, noisome beasts, the sword,” {2b} These are the judgments of th’ offended Lord. Think not the great Jehovah sleeps supine, Sooner yon radiant orb shall cease to shine: For broken Sabbaths clouds of wrath will lower, And who can stay “the thunder of his power?” But judgment is the Lord’s unwonted deed, Unwillingly He makes the sinner bleed: The door of Mercy still is open found, To penitence and pardon calls abound.