Shall bid the soul dissolve away.
Soft as the Morning sheds her purple light
Through the dark azure of the Night,
So soft the God of slumber sheds
His roseate dews around your heads.
Such the blessings I bestow!
Haste, my sons, these blessings know!
Behold the flow'rets of the Spring,
They wanton in the Zephyr's wing,
They drink the matin ether blue,