This page has been validated.
42
THE SUN.
Of the blue vault that spans our universe?
—But Thou, who rul'st the sun, the astonish'd soul
Shrinks as it takes Thy name. Almost it fears
To be forgotten, mid the myriad worlds
Which thou hast made.
And yet the sickliest leaf
That drinks thy dew reproves our unbelief.
The frail field-lily, which no florist's eye
Regards, doth win a glorious garniture,
To kings denied. So, while to dust we bow,
Needy and poor, oh! bid us learn the lore
Graved on the humblest lily's leaf, as deep
As on you disk of fire—to trust in Thee.
—But Thou, who rul'st the sun, the astonish'd soul
Shrinks as it takes Thy name. Almost it fears
To be forgotten, mid the myriad worlds
Which thou hast made.
And yet the sickliest leaf
That drinks thy dew reproves our unbelief.
The frail field-lily, which no florist's eye
Regards, doth win a glorious garniture,
To kings denied. So, while to dust we bow,
Needy and poor, oh! bid us learn the lore
Graved on the humblest lily's leaf, as deep
As on you disk of fire—to trust in Thee.
