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In climes beyond the solar road.
In climes beyond the solar road.
Father of rosy day,
No more thy clouds of incense rise;
But waking flow'rs,
read more
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.
If you want a place in the sun, you've got to put up with a few blisters.
If you want a place in the sun, you've got to put up with a few blisters.
Trees go wandering forth in all directions with every wind, going and coming like ourselves, traveling with us around the read more
Trees go wandering forth in all directions with every wind, going and coming like ourselves, traveling with us around the sun two million miles a day, and through space heaven knows how fast and far!
High in his chariot glow'd the lamp of day.
High in his chariot glow'd the lamp of day.
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.
Out of the solar walk and Heaven's highway.
Out of the solar walk and Heaven's highway.
Whence are thy beams, O sun! thy everlasting light? Thou comest
forth, in thy awful beauty; the stars hide read more
Whence are thy beams, O sun! thy everlasting light? Thou comest
forth, in thy awful beauty; the stars hide themselves in the sky;
the moon, cold and pale, sinks in the western waves. But thou,
thyself, movest alone.
