They are the fruitful beds and borders
In God’s rich garden: that is bare
Which parts their ranks and orders.
The Sundays of man’s life,
Threaded together on time’s string,
Make bracelets to adorn the wife
Of the eternal, glorious King.
On Sundays heaven’s gate stands ope;
Blessings are plentiful and rife,
More plentiful than hope.”