Having a new at His expense,
Whose drops of blood paid the full price
That was required to make us gay,
And fit for paradise.
* * * *
Thou art a day of mirth,
And where the weekdays trail on ground,
Thy flight is higher, as thy birth.”
It is related that, on the Sunday before his death, Mr. Herbert rose suddenly from his bed, called for one of his instruments, and, having tuned it, sang the following verse from the same poem.
“The Sundays of man’s life,