Shine out, thou Sun, and let the minster--towers
Pour forth their solemn music, and the crowd
Utter their oft--repeated shouts and loud;
Let little children bless the gladsome hours
Of this auspicious day; for there are powers
Undreamt of by the selfish and the proud,
That work when avarice in the dust is bowed,
And mean utility. The summer flowers
That toil not, neither spin, the deep blue sky,
The ever--twinkling waves that gird our land,
Have taught ye to rejoice: therefore pass by,
Ye coloured pageants; shout each girl and boy:--
Ill fare the heart that doth not feel your joy!