HENRY ROWE
1750-1819
507. Sun
Angel, king of streaming morn;
Cherub, call'd by Heav'n to shine;
T' orient tread the waste forlorn;
Guide ætherial, pow'r divine;
Thou, Lord of all within!
Golden spirit, lamp of day,
Host, that dips in blood the plain,
Bids the crimson'd mead be gay,
Bids the green blood burst the vein;
Thou, Lord of all within!
Soul, that wraps the globe in light;
Spirit, beckoning to arise;
Drives the frowning brow of night,
Glory bursting o'er the skies;
Thou, Lord of all within!
508. Moon
Thee too, modest tressèd maid,
When thy fallen stars appear;
When in lawn of fire array'd
Sov'reign of yon powder'd sphere;
To thee I chant at close of day,
Beneath, O maiden Moon! thy ray.
Throned in sapphired ring supreme,
Pregnant with celestial juice,
On silver wing thy diamond stream
Gives what summer hours produce;
While view'd impearl'd earth's rich inlay,
Beneath, O maiden Moon! thy ray.
