SUNDAY in the country — that's how we spent the day, <br />Drinking in the perfume of the fragrant breath of May; <br />Gazing at the splendors of the meadows and the hills, <br />Laughing with the babbling brooks and singing with the rills, <br />Dancing with the sunbeams and smiling with the skies, <br />And worshiping the Master with our hearts and minds and eyes. <br /> <br />Sunday in the country — with an arch of blue above, <br />And the green trees whispering to us simple messages of love; <br />With the song birds singing anthems just as sacred and as sweet <br />And as stirring and uplifting as the church choir down the street; <br />In God's own great cathedral, where the poorest man may go, <br />And catch a glimpse of Heaven as he journeys here below. <br /> <br />Sunday in the country — that's how we spent the day, <br />And we thanked God every minute for His precious gifts of May; <br />For the green trees waving o'er us as the shady lanes we strolled, <br />For the silver of the waters and the sunbeams' yellow gold, <br />For the fragrance of the lilacs and the apple trees in bloom, <br />For the glory of the sunshine and the blossoms' sweet perfume. <br /> <br />Sunday in the country — till the shades of night came down, <br />When we turned our faces homeward and we journeyed back to town; <br />Back to all the ceaseless striving in the dreary haunts of men, <br />To the constant quest for money with its anguish once again, <br />But with faith in God above us, and serene contentment, too, <br />For our hearts were drenched with gladness as the fields are drenched with dew.<br /><br />Edgar Albert Guest<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sunday-in-the-country/
