The sun, too, shines into cesspools, and is not polluted.

The sun, too, shines into cesspools, and is not polluted.

Such words fall to often on our cold and careless ears with the
triteness of long familiarity; but to read more

Such words fall to often on our cold and careless ears with the
triteness of long familiarity; but to Octavia . . . they seemed
to be written in sunbeams.

Behold him setting in his western skies,
The shadows lengthening as the vapours rise.

Behold him setting in his western skies,
The shadows lengthening as the vapours rise.

See the gold sunshine patching,
And streaming and streaking across
The gray-green oaks; and catching,
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See the gold sunshine patching,
And streaming and streaking across
The gray-green oaks; and catching,
By its soft brown beard, the moss.

Father of rosy day,
No more thy clouds of incense rise;
But waking flow'rs,
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Father of rosy day,
No more thy clouds of incense rise;
But waking flow'rs,
At morning hours,
Give out their sweets to meet thee in the skies.

The great duties of life are written with a sunbeam.

The great duties of life are written with a sunbeam.

Thou shalt come out of a warme Sunne into God's blessing.

Thou shalt come out of a warme Sunne into God's blessing.

The sun shineth upon the dunghill and is not corrupted.

The sun shineth upon the dunghill and is not corrupted.

High in his chariot glow'd the lamp of day.

High in his chariot glow'd the lamp of day.