To the sun, her monarch; and receives them back
Rich, soft, and fertile, in the still small shower,
That falls invisible from the morning’s womb:
So may my fervent heart exhale to Thee
Daily, the breathings of its thankful prayer.
And praise spontaneous; which thy heavenly grace
Shall render back in a perpetual dew
Of benedictions, making all the waste
Green with cool verdure.
Oh! the time hath been,