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Sabbath

A fine day, but one for reasoned abstention.
Tempt me not, sturdy mattock, nor you, cunning trowel,
Nor you, keen-edged secateurs!

Perhaps with finger and thumb one might venture?
But no! desist now, you scheming brain-cells,
And rest, hand, primeval tool.

Rather, recumbent on this sunny grass-slope,
My mind shall meditate upon divine husbandry,
And ponder emblems, allegories, parables—
The vine, the scattered seed, the threshing flail;

And think of peace flowing like that mighty river,
And justice, standing fast like those great mountains,
And for similitude of the soft blue above me,
Pitifulness. Tender mercy.