Izaak Walton has given a beautiful setting to one stanza from the
eloquent ode "Sunday." "The Sunday before his death," his biographer tells
us, "he rose suddenly from his bed or couch, called for one of his
instruments, took it into his hand, and said:
"'My God, my God
My music shall find thee,
And every string
Shall have his attribute to sing.
And having tuned it, he played and sung:
"'The Sundays of man's life,
Threaded together on time's string,
Make bracelets to adorn the wife
Of the eternal glorious King.
On Sundays, heaven's door stands ope;
Blessings are plentiful and rife;
More plentiful than hope.'
"Thus he sung on earth such hymns and anthems as the angels and he, and
Mr. Farrer, now sing in heaven."
As we have fallen upon this personal, biographical vein, and as the best
key to a man's poetry is to know the man and what he may have encountered,
we may cite the poem entitled "The Pearl." It is compact of life and
experience: we see the courtier and the scholar ripening into the saint;
the world not forgotten or ignored, but its best pursuits calmly weighed,
fondly enumerated and left behind, as steps of the celestial ladder.
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