Then he admires thee in the plain, O God!
In the ascending pomp of dawning day—
Thee in the glorious sun—
The worm—the budding branch.
Where coolness gushes in the waving grass,
Or o’er the flowers, streams, and fountains rests;
Inhales the breath of prime,
The gentle airs of eve.
His straw-decked thatch, where doves bask in the sun,
And play and hop, incites to sweeter rest