Darkening like water in the breeze,
A holy sadness shared.
Lo![532] while I speak, the labouring Sun
His glad deliverance has begun:
The cypress waves her[533] sombre plume
More cheerily; and town and tower,
The vineyard and the olive-bower,
Their lustre re-assume!
O Ye, who guard and grace my home
While in far-distant lands we roam,