O thou! who rollest in yon azure field,

O thou

Round as the orb of my forefather's shield,

Whence are thy beams? From what eternal store

Dost thou, O Sun! thy vast effulgence pour?

In awful grandeur, when thou movest on high,

The stars start back and hide them in the sky;

The pale Moon sickens in thy brightening blaze,

And in the western wave avoids thy gaze.

Alone thou shinest forth—for who can rise

Companion of thy splendour in the skies!

The mountain oaks are seen to fall away—

Mountains themselves by length of years decay—

With ebbs and flows is the rough Ocean tost;

In heaven the Moon is for a season lost,

But thou, amidst the fullness of thy joy,

The same art ever, blazing in the sky!

When tempests wrap the world from pole to pole,

When vivid lightnings flash and thunders roll,

Thou far above their utmost fury borne,

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