The rest of the Sabbath.
In the fourth commandment it is the main object of the Sabbath that is put prominently forward. It is a day to be "kept holy"—a day which God has "blessed and hallowed." Here, on the contrary, our attention is called to its secondary object—it is for "rest" and "refreshment." Perhaps men of the classes who are in easy circumstances do not sufficiently realise the intense relief that is furnished by the Sunday rest to the classes below them, to the over-taxed artisan, the household drudge, the wearied and stupefied farm-labourer—nay, even to the clerk, the accountant, the shopkeeper, the salesman. Continuous mechanical work of one and the same kind is required of most of those who labour, from morning till night, and from one end of the week to the other. The monotony of their occupations is terrible—is deadening—is sometimes maddening. For them, the treat that the Sunday affords is the single gleam of light in their uniformly murky sky, the single ray of hope that gilds their else miserable existence, the single link that connects them with the living world of thought, and sentiment, and feeling, for which they were born, and in which their spirits long to expatiate. Rest! To the tired brute, forced to slave for his owner up to the full measure of his powers, and beyond them—ready to sink to the earth the moment he is not artificially sustained—who goes through his daily round in a state that is half-sleep, half-waking—what a blessed change is the quietude of the Sunday, when for four-and-twenty hours at least he enjoys absolute and entire repose, recruits his strength, rests all his muscles, is called on to make no exertion! Refreshment! How thrice blessed to the overwrought man, and still more to the overwrought woman, is the relaxation of the dreadful tension of their lives which Sunday brings! "No rest, no pause, no peace," for six long days—days beginning early and ending late—days without change or variety—without relaxation or amusement—wretched, miserable days, during which they wish a hundred times that they had never been born. On such the Sunday rest falls as a refreshing dew. Their drooping spirits rise to it. They inhale at every pore its beneficent influences. They feel it to be "a refuge from the storms of life, a bourne of peace after six days of care and toil, a goal to which they may look with glad hearts, and towards which they may work with hopeful spirits amid the intense struggles, and fervid contests, and fierce strifes of existence." Without the Sunday rest, modern life, at any rate, would be intolerable; and the mass of those who are actively engaged in its various phases would drift into idiocy, or be driven to madness!