There peace prevails; the Sabbath rules the year; And, in its own primeval innocence, Uncursed by man's polluted touch, the earth Seems resting in sacred, sublime repose. No Gentile tyrant sways his sceptre there; No pris'ners groan in solitary cells. There freedom dwells; no superstitious creed Enslaves the mind of man; no Christian mobs To drive him from his home or shed his blood. O sacred solitude, divinely blest-- Zion's retreat; where dwell the great and good. There, with delight my spirit lingers still, And would prolong the heavenly vision. I love thee, for thyself, O land of Zion! The beauty of thy landscape, thy flowers, Thy boundless immensity of green fields, Mingling with the with expanse of Heaven's Blue arch; thy star-bespangled firmament Have charms for me. The mellow moonlight Gently stealing o'er thy sacred forests;-- The fading tints of twilight painted on Your evening sky;--the soft and plaintive voice Of the autumnal cricket, as he sings The funeral knell of expiring insects, Or sounds a requiem to the closing year-- All these steal o'er my senses with delight, And wake the memory to scenes afar: They whisper to the lonely exile, And tell of youth, and friends, and native clime. Yet not for these charms alone I love thee; Nor yet for peace, or freedom sweet, or rest, Or sacred Sabbath of sublime repose. All these, though dear to me, are worthless toys,-- Mere baubles,--compared to that precious gem Which yet remains to beautify my verse, And swell the music of my joyous theme. There dwell my family,--my bosom friends,-- The precious lambs of my Redeemer,--my Best of Heaven's gifts to man,--my germs of Life and immortality,--my hope of Heaven,-- My principality on earth began,-- My kingdom in embryo, big with thrones Of endless power and wide dominion. Ye kindred spirits from worlds celestial! Offsprings of Deity;--Sons and daughters Of eternity;--Ye nobles of Heaven Whose dwellings were of old among the Gods In the everlasting mansions, and who stood In the councils of the High and lofty One, ere chaos sprang to order, or the Foundations of the everlasting hills Were laid: Why came ye to this world of woe? Why this disguise?--This painful sojourn in A land of death?-- Why wander far from Heaven's eternal fold And from the bosom of your Father there? Had _He_ no love? No fond affection for His own, that you are banished thus, and left As exiles wandering in some dreary waste? And if thus fallen, and forsaken quite, Like evil spirits thrust from Heaven, to Return no more;--why that latent spark of Heaven's pure love still glowing in your breast? Why does your bosom swell with hope and joy, And fire celestial kindle in your eye?