The sun shineth upon the dunghill and is not corrupted.

The sun shineth upon the dunghill and is not corrupted.

In climes beyond the solar road.

In climes beyond the solar road.

The sun is new each day.

The sun is new each day.

The sun, which passeth through pollutions and itself remains as
pure as before.

The sun, which passeth through pollutions and itself remains as
pure as before.

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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.