Address to the Rising Sun
By Samuel Thomson
Hail holy light! offspring of Heaven 鈥�
Hither, as to their fountain, other stars
Repairing, in their golden urns draw light.
(Milton)
ONCE more thou glorious king of rising day!
My gladden鈥檇 eyes behold thy golden beams
Laughing the raven gloom of night away,
And smiling, joyful, on my place of dreams.
(Calm place of thought, and meditation sweet,
Where happiness delights to live alone,
And never hear the sound of other feet,
Or any human accent but my own.)
So may the sun of Righteousness arise,
With holy healing in his heavenly rays,
And shine on many a soul that abject lies
In this obscure, this tenebrific maze.
Thy smile, bright monarch, makes the nations gay;
Thy blazing aspect every way sublime,
Riding in triumph o鈥檈r the world away,
Marking the progress of revolving time.
When thro鈥� the portals of the crimson west
Ten thousand watery * eyes thy exit see,
The Queen of Heaven then gilds my place of rest
With yellow radiance that she gets from thee.
Yes, from my pillow, with delight I can
Read, in her face, the glory thou hast given;
As bright she rises o鈥檈r the works of man,
The lamp of wisdom in the way to Heaven.
She smiles upon me, but her smile is cold,
No kind invigorating heat hath she;
Dark, watery body, in herself 鈥� behold,
Prolific warmth can only come from thee.
Just so the splendour of the sons of grace,
Alas! Inherent brightness they have none;
All, all the beauties of the Christian race,
Beam from the Sun of Righteousness alone.
Thou art his servant 鈥� and he plac鈥檇 thee there,
To bless this universe with life and light;
When he thinks fit, he鈥檒l pluck thee from thy sphere,
And all thy flory will extinguish quite.
Thy sister too, that shines so sweetly here,
With calm serenity around my cave,
Must sometime number her concluding year,
And sink in Creation鈥檚 all-devouring grave.
Delightful 鈥榯is, when days鈥� wild clamour cease,
And still鈥檇 the hammers of terrestrial care,
To find her smiling on my spot of peace;
My bed of silence, solitude and prayer.
Almighty Father, grant thy sov鈥檙eign grace
May be sufficient for me all my days;
Cause shine on me the brightness of thy face,
And feed my soul with songs of ardent praise.
(May 27, 1806)
