Die Sonne tönt nach alter weise.—Goethe

He rises as of old, he flings
A grandeur over earth and sea,
And life wakes up in lifeless things
And bounds into fertility.
The earth upheaves her bosom, wet
With fruitful tears, and in her veins
The myriad beat of life is set,
And pulses with a thousand gains.
He rises as of old—the stars
Shrink from his pathway, and their light
Fades back into the heaven that bars
A glory from all mortal sight.
He sinks; and round his fiery track,
Where the blue heaven meets above,
Their dazzling lustre eddies back,
And fills the world with light and love.
He rises as of old—his race
Is swifter than that angel's flight
Who flies in glory through the space
Of stars to tell his master's might.
He wearies not—but upward springs,
A wonder unto those below
Who walk beneath his purple wings,
And live in their sustaining glow.
He rises as of old—the shade
Of Him who, from the highest seat
Through the wild waste of chaos, made
A pathway for his glowing feet;
Along this path, beneath His eye,
He thunders; and, as on he swims,
The stars, within the boundless skies,
Attend him with harmonious hymns.