The gay motes that people the sunbeams.

The gay motes that people the sunbeams.

Out of the solar walk and Heaven's highway.

Out of the solar walk and Heaven's highway.

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.

She stood breast-high amid the corn,
Clasp'd by the golden light of morn,
Like the sweetheart of read more

She stood breast-high amid the corn,
Clasp'd by the golden light of morn,
Like the sweetheart of the sun,
Who many a glowing kiss had won.

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.

Failing yet gracious,
Slow pacing, soon homing,
A patriarch that strolls
Through the tents read more

Failing yet gracious,
Slow pacing, soon homing,
A patriarch that strolls
Through the tents of his children,
The sun as he journeys
His round on the lower
Ascents of the blue,
Washes the roofs
And the hillsides with clarity.

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

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

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.

In climes beyond the solar road.

In climes beyond the solar road.