The lazy clouds that, hung in middle sky,
Exulting in the balm, float listless by,
Reflecting back their look:
The buds, the herbs, the leaves,
Each, and all things that blossom, bless the rays
Of the bright sun, and, as they bless, they praise
The bounteous Hand that gives!
No. IV.—THE SUNBEAM.
Now glory walks abroad,