The South Transept: The Epistle and Gospel II

A few short Years make up our pilgrimage ;
A few short Weeks make up the fleeting Year ;
Each Week doth bear a heavenly embassage ;
With silent steps, as on a crystal stair,
It comes and goes to Heaven. With such sweet care
The Church hath deck'd each Week with blooming wings,
Which else were earth's stern-hearted messenger
Leading to Death ; she at perennial springs
Clothes it with holy light, and like an Angel brings.