And earth and ocean seem’d to say,
“Our beauties are but for a day.”
I prais’d the sun, whose chariot roll’d
On wheels of amber and of gold:
I prais’d the moon, whose softer eye
Gleam’d sweetly through the summer sky;
And moon and sun in answer said,
“Our days of light are numbered.”
O God! O good beyond compare!
If thus thy meaner works are fair;