SUNDAY. It is my guardian Angel that doth rise,
His face turned from the world, for he is bent
To seek my risen Master in the skies,
Borne on the breath of prayer and Sacrament.
MONDAY. Yet hath he left me for my Monday thought
This sadly faithful image of my Lord,
That when the weekdays toil and trouble brought,
I might take this dread sign with me abroad.
TUESDAY. He will not leave me by myself too long,
Though fain is he in his bright home to stay;
And he hath clasped his hand in mine so strong,
Perchance God means I shall not fall to-day.

WEDNESDAY. This morn he left me, and he laid a Cross
Flat on the ground, to frighten me from sin;
Lest mean ambition, lust, or worldly dross,
My traitor thoughts from my dear Lord should win.
THURSDAY. To-day he hath ascended up on high,
Early, before I woke; that I might yearn
And gaze all wistfully into the sky,
And a cold look on this blank world might turn.
FRIDAY. All Friday long he kneels behind a shroud
To pray, perchance, with many a tear for me;
But at the compline he doth burst the cloud,
Bright as the evening of a fast may be.
SATURDAY. The week is gone: and wherefore dost thou keep
So long a vigil? Is it all for me?
Oh! if my sins can make an angel weep,
My Saviour! let me hide myself in Thee.