The Dispute of the Seven Days.

From: The Bird and the Bell with Other Poems (1875)
Author: Christopher Pearse Cranch
Published: Osgood and Company 1875 Boston


ONCE on a time the days of the week
Quarrelled and made bad weatlier.
The point was which of the seven was best;
So they all disputed together.

And Monday said, “I wash the clothes”;
And Tuesday said, “I air ‘em”;
And Wednesday said, “I iron the shirts”;
And Thursday said, “I wear ‘em.”

And Friday, “I’m the day for fish”;
And Saturday, “Children love me”;
And Sunday, “I am the Sabbath day,
I’m sure there are none above me.”

One said, “I am the fittest for work”;
And one, “I am fittest for leisure.”
Another, “I’m best for prayer and praise”;
And another, “I’m best for pleasure.”

Arguing thus, they flapped their wings,
And puffed up every feather;
They blew and rained and snowed and hailed:
There never was seen such weather.

Old Father Time was passing by,
And heard the hurly-burly.
Said he, “Here’s something going wrong;
It’s well I was up so early.

“These children of mine have lost their wits
And seem to be all non compos.
I never knew them to gabble thus.
Hollo there!—stop that rumpus!

“I should think you a flock of angry geese,
To hear your screaming and bawling.
Indeed, it would seem by the way it snows,
Goose-feathers are certainly falling.

“You, Sunday, sir, with your starched cravat,
Black coat, and church-veneering,—
Tell me the cause of this angry spat;
Speak loud,—I am hard of hearing.

“You are the foremost talker here;
The wisest sure you should be.
I little thought such a deuce of a row
As you are all making, could be.”

Then Sunday said, “Good Father Time,
The case is clear as noonday;
For ever since the world was made,
The Lord’s day has been Sunday.

“The church—” Here Monday started up:
“The folks are glad when you leave ‘em;
They all want me to give ‘em their work,
And the pleasures of which you bereave ‘em.”

But Tuesday said, “I finish your chores,
And do them as fine as a fiddle.”
And Wednesday, “I am the best of you all
Because I stand in the middle.”

And Thursday, Friday, Saturday, each
Said things that I can’t remember.
And so they might have argued their case
From March until December.

But Father Tempus cut them short:
“My children, why this pother?
There is no best, there is no worst;
One day’s just like another.

“To God’s great eye all shine alike
As in their primal beauty.
That day is best whose deeds are best;
That worst that fails in duty.

“Where Justice lights the passing hours,
Where Love is wise and tender,
There beams the radiance of the skies,
There shines a day of splendor.”

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