Sweet Are the Days

Sweet are the days which in swift fashion pass

and suns who suffer not their feet to drag.

This battle is not one which making last

will tend t’words victory. Thou, Sun may brag

that, like a beaming bridegroom, you might race

rejoicing in your course; O, that all grooms

did run so short a course and swift a pace

that one sweet day should end in honey-moon.

Yet not for us; my Sun long-suffering treads

a steep and narrow path with steady feet;

remembering Him whose feet for us once bled,

takes tortoise-wisdom, for the hare to beat

and suffers long, despising these desires

for love of Him who snatched us from hell’s fires.