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Published in The Muses' Delight, 1786.
Lyrics: Anon
Hail! Thou great orb that deck'st the sky,
Too piercing for the mortal eye;
Thy rays are spread o'er the whole globe,
And cover nature with a golden robe.
In spring the fertile meads wax green,
And nature everywhere's serene;
Thou raisest up the drooping head
Of flow'rs, by winter's wind made dead:
The birds, enliven'd by thy rays,
Now warble forth their cheerful lays.
Again the white-fleeced flocks do bleat,
Enlivened by thy glorious heat;
Again the little, harmless lambs
Do sport and play around their dams.
The beasts that range the forest o'er
Thy strength'ning influence adore,
And their grim, growling joy express
In gambols rude and wantonness.
All nature wakes at thy bright rays,
And praise thee with their roundelays.
Hail! Thou great orb that deck'st the sky,
Too piercing for the mortal eye;
Thy rays are spread o'er the whole globe,
And cover nature with a golden robe.
In spring the fertile meads wax green,
And nature everywhere's serene;
Thou raisest up the drooping head
Of flow'rs, by winter's wind made dead:
The birds, enliven'd by thy rays,
Now warble forth their cheerful lays.
Again the white-fleeced flocks do bleat,
Enlivened by thy glorious heat;
Again the little, harmless lambs
Do sport and play around their dams.
The beasts that range the forest o'er
Thy strength'ning influence adore,
And their grim, growling joy express
In gambols rude and wantonness.
All nature wakes at thy bright rays,
And praise thee with their roundelays.