Sunday Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABABCAC DEDEFDG HIJKLML NOFPQFQ RSRSTRT UVUWXUX JYJYCJC CUCUUCU ZXZXJZJ

O day most calm most brightA
The fruit of this the next world's budB
Th'endorsement of supreme delightA
Writ by a friend and with his bloodB
The couch of time care's balm and bayC
The week were dark but for thy lightA
Thy torch doth show the wayC
-
The other days and thouD
Make up one man whose face thou artE
Knocking at heaven with thy browD
The worky days are the back partE
The burden of the week lies thereF
Making the whole to stoop and bowD
Till thy release appearG
-
Man had straight forward goneH
To endless death but thou dost pullI
And turn us round to look on oneJ
Whom if we were not very dullK
We could not choose to look on stillL
Since there is no place so aloneM
The which he doth not fillL
-
Sundays the pillars areN
On which heav'n's palace arched liesO
The other days fill up the spareF
And hollow room with vanitiesP
They are the fruitful beds and bordersQ
In God's rich garden that is bareF
Which parts their ranks and ordersQ
-
The Sundays of man's lifeR
Threaded together on time's stringS
Make bracelets to adorn the wifeR
Of the eternal glorious KingS
On Sunday heaven's gate stands opeT
Blessings are plentiful and rifeR
More plentiful than hopeT
-
This day my Saviour roseU
And did enclose this light for hisV
That as each beast his manger knowsU
Man might not of his fodder missW
Christ hath took in this piece of groundX
And made a garden there for thoseU
Who want herbs for their woundX
-
The rest of our CreationJ
Our great Redeemer did removeY
With the same shake which at his passionJ
Did th'earth and all things with it moveY
As Samson bore the doors awayC
Christ's hands though nail'd wrought our salvationJ
And did unhinge that dayC
-
The brightness of that dayC
We sullied by our foul offenceU
Wherefore that robe we cast awayC
Having a new at his expenseU
Whose drops of bloud paid the full priceU
That was requir'd to make us gayC
And fit for ParadiseU
-
Thou art a day of mirthZ
And where the weekdays trail on groundX
Thy flight is higher as thy birthZ
O let me take thee at the boundX
Leaping with thee from sev'n to sev'nJ
Till that we both being toss'd from earthZ
Fly hand in hand to heav'nJ

George Herbert



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