As he his morning race begins to run!
Than time or thought alone, thou art less fleet—
Where shall we seek thy primal dwelling-place?
About His throne, who ever girt with thee,
Lay on the bosom of eternity;
Who lit the stars, which radiate through space—
Lo! from the east in billowy tide thou flowest,
Gilding the hill-tops and the heavenly spires—
Empurpling ocean with a myriad fires—
Great light, thou sun! o’er heaven thou proudly goest;