Then he admires Thee in the plain, O God!
In the ascending pomp of dawning day,
Thee in Thy glorious sun.
The worm--the budding branch--
Where coolness gushes in the waving branch
Or o'er the flowers streams the fountain, rests,
Inhales the breadth of prime
The gentle airs of eve.
His straw-decked thatch, where doves bask in the sun,
And play, and hop, invites to sweeter rest