Choking the ways that wind
'Mongst the proud piles, the work of human kind.
The golden sunshine comes
From the round heaven, and on their dwellings lies
And lights their inner homes;
For them thou fill'st with air the unbounded skies
And givest them the stores
Of ocean, and the harvest of its shores.
Thy spirit is around,
Quickening the restless mass that sweeps along;