Thou shinest on serenely free,
Best born of _Him_, whose mercy grew
In every gift, sweet world, to thee.

O countless stars, that, lost in light,
Still gem the proud sun's glory bed,
And o'er the saddening brow of night
A softer, holier influence shed--
How well your radiant march hath sped.
Unfailing vestals of the sky,
As smiling thus ye weed from dread
The soul ye court to muse on high.

O flowers that breathe of beauty's reign,
In many a tint o'er lawn and lea,
That give the cold heart once again
A dream of happier infancy;
And even on the grave can be
A spell to weed affection's pain--
Children of Eden, who could see.
Nor own _His_ bounty in your reign?

O winds, that seem to waft from far
A mystic murmur o'er the soul,
As ye had power to pass the bar
Of nature in your vast control,
Hail to your everlasting roll--
Obedient still ye wander dim,
And softly breathe, or loudly toll,
Through earth and sky the name of _Him_.