High in his chariot glow'd the lamp of day.

High in his chariot glow'd the lamp of day.

Out of the solar walk and Heaven's highway.

Out of the solar walk and Heaven's highway.

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.

Let others hail the rising sun:
I bow to that whose course is run.

Let others hail the rising sun:
I bow to that whose course is run.

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.

Whence are thy beams, O sun! thy everlasting light? Thou comest
forth, in thy awful beauty; the stars hide read more

Whence are thy beams, O sun! thy everlasting light? Thou comest
forth, in thy awful beauty; the stars hide themselves in the sky;
the moon, cold and pale, sinks in the western waves. But thou,
thyself, movest alone.

The great duties of life are written with a sunbeam.

The great duties of life are written with a sunbeam.

The gay motes that people the sunbeams.

The gay motes that people the sunbeams.

See the gold sunshine patching,
And streaming and streaking across
The gray-green oaks; and catching,
read more

See the gold sunshine patching,
And streaming and streaking across
The gray-green oaks; and catching,
By its soft brown beard, the moss.