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Father of rosy day,
No more thy clouds of incense rise;
But waking flow'rs,
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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.
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.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the radiant sun,
Is Nature's eye.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the radiant sun,
Is Nature's eye.
In climes beyond the solar road.
In climes beyond the solar road.
The gay motes that people the sunbeams.
The gay motes that people the sunbeams.
When the sun sets, shadows, that showed at noon
But small, appear most long and terrible.
When the sun sets, shadows, that showed at noon
But small, appear most long and terrible.
The sun, too, shines into cesspools, and is not polluted.
The sun, too, shines into cesspools, and is not polluted.
If you want a place in the sun, you've got to put up with a few blisters.
If you want a place in the sun, you've got to put up with a few blisters.
