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!