Lines to the Sun.
Bright regent of ether,
Great monarch of day,
Whose sceptre of splendour
Drives darkness away;
Thou art the restorer
Of life on the earth,
And givest its beauty
Renewal of birth.
From soft dewy slumber,
Mid darkness and night,
Each flower opes its eyelid
To gaze on thy light.
The dew-drops of morning,
Which spangle the vale,
To honour thy coming
As incense exhale.
Gay birds of the woodland
Aroused by thy ray,
To musical breezes
Attune the sweet lay.
The trees of the forest
Rejoice in thy beams,
That glance like bright silver
Along the clear streams.
How splendid all nature
Beneath thy glad reign,
In light and in glory,
O’er land and o’er main.
E’en man, the earth’s ruler,
Awaits thy command;
His fetters of slumber
Are broke by thy hand.
From sleep he ariseth
To toil and to care,
Till evening’s rich lustre
Hath vanished from air.
Yet art thou but agent,—
The servant of him
Who gave thee thy brightness,
And polished thy beam.
Thy glory is darkness;
Thy splendour but night;
To Him, thy Creator,
Who “dwelleth in light.”