Failing yet gracious,
Slow pacing, soon homing,
A patriarch that strolls
Through the tents read more

Failing yet gracious,
Slow pacing, soon homing,
A patriarch that strolls
Through the tents of his children,
The sun as he journeys
His round on the lower
Ascents of the blue,
Washes the roofs
And the hillsides with clarity.

Make hay while the sun shines.

Make hay while the sun shines.

The gay motes that people the sunbeams.

The gay motes that people the sunbeams.

Such words fall to often on our cold and careless ears with the
triteness of long familiarity; but to read more

Such words fall to often on our cold and careless ears with the
triteness of long familiarity; but to Octavia . . . they seemed
to be written in sunbeams.

Trees go wandering forth in all directions with every wind, going and coming like ourselves, traveling with us around the read more

Trees go wandering forth in all directions with every wind, going and coming like ourselves, traveling with us around the sun two million miles a day, and through space heaven knows how fast and far!

In climes beyond the solar road.

In climes beyond the solar road.

Father of rosy day,
No more thy clouds of incense rise;
But waking flow'rs,
read more

Father of rosy day,
No more thy clouds of incense rise;
But waking flow'rs,
At morning hours,
Give out their sweets to meet thee in the skies.

Thou shalt sleep in thy clouds, careless of the voice of the
morning.

Thou shalt sleep in thy clouds, careless of the voice of the
morning.

She stood breast-high amid the corn,
Clasp'd by the golden light of morn,
Like the sweetheart of read more

She stood breast-high amid the corn,
Clasp'd by the golden light of morn,
Like the sweetheart of the sun,
Who many a glowing kiss had won.