ON shores far foreign, or remoter seas, How doth poor Scotland's wanderer hail thy ray, Blest Sabbath! and with "joy of woe" survey In thought his native dwelling 'mid its trees— And childhood's haunts—and faces well-beloved— Friends of his soul by distance made more dear! Oh! as fond Memory scans them with a tear, By Manhood be it shed—and unreproved: He thinks of times—times ne'er to come again— Sweet times, when to the old kirk, hand in hand, With those he loved in his far Fatherland He wont on Sabbath morn to cross the plain! Tell him, Religion, and 'twill soothe his pain, All yet shall meet on Heaven's eternal strand. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LOVE IS LIKE A DIZZINESS by JAMES HOGG TO A BUTTERFLY (1) by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH WYATT BEING IN PRISON, TO BRIAN by THOMAS WYATT THE PIAZZA OF ST. MARK AT MIDNIGHT by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE MOUNT OF OLIVES, SELECTION by ANEIRIN A WATER MILL by ANTIPATER OF THESSALONICA |