Goldsmith.

Doth thy great Maker, Sun! forbid the thought,

That of his glory, thou one ray hast caught;

When thou go’st measuring the boundless skies,

Art thou not Sun! the brightness of his eyes?

Ah! if I’ve sometimes in misfortune’s days

Blasphem’d the sun’s vexation-causing rays;

And if I’ve cursed the gifts, receiv’d from thee,

My God! who readest hearts—O pardon me!