Sheds its mild radiance o'er the desert plain,
Or softly glides along the chrystal flood.
Yet not alone delight the soft and fair,
Alike the grander scenes of Nature move;
Yet not alone her beauties claim their care,
The great, sublime, and terrible, they love.
The Sons of Nature, they alike delight
In the rough precipice's broken steep,
In the black terrors of the stormy night,
And in the thunders of the threatening deep.