One Day in Seven

Sunday comes

And all the rest, the promised rest

Of silence and of song

Of sermons and prayers

The Word

The Truth

The Living Way, the only way

To face another week.

 

 

Monday comes

And soon it steals the peace

To leave a piece,

A fragment of the time

From duty done

To duty left to do

With half a thought for finer things

Behind a smothered yawn.

 

 

Tuesday comes

And follows in the wake

Of Monday's master plan,

Concludes, completes

And perhaps perfects

But staggers

Pauses

Stoops to find a seat

In work's low-ceiling'd room.

 

 

Wednesday comes

And all is joy or woe -

Too pressed to rest,

Too stressed to work,

Proceed, now lead

It's all the same.

Neither start

Nor end in view,

So flung, right in the middle, there we dance.

 

 

Thursday comes

And as the sun comes out

We also strive to shine,

To conquer tasks

And overcome distractions

Until they

Conquer us

And sad news upon bad news

Darkens out the sun.

 

 

Friday comes

On dreams of sea and beach,

But soon the tide comes in

And washes dreams away,

With all that was deferred

In the days

Gone before

But can no more be ignored

Than the tide around our knees.

 

 

Come Saturday

And the prospect of a change

When first the bits and bobs

(So better done today

Than left

To linger on

Until next week)

Are done, and all that's left

Is leisure, nothing less, for half an hour.

 

 

Sunday comes

And all the rest, the promised rest,

Obeyed as a command at first

We land on as a blessing:

To rest that we might stand,

To hear that we might speak,

To read that we might know,

To sing that we might praise,

To forget all else that we might worship God

Remembering Him, who kept us all the week.