Yield a breathing-space from woes—
Thine the glory, thine the zest!
Thine the Spring's eternal bloom!
Man has all, of thee possest,
Dark, without thee, lowers his doom. —D. K. Sandford.
The same.
Health, brightest visitant from Heaven,
Grant me with thee to rest!
For the short term by nature given,
Be thou my constant guest!