Classic Poem

The brightness round the rising sun,
It shall be thine if thou wilt rise;
Thou too hast thine own race to run,
And pour thy light on waiting eyes.

The expectant millions eager turn,
Oft when thy coming streaks the east;
And ask when shall his glory burn,
Aloft to mid-day's light increased.

And star on star when thine has lit
The o'erhanging dome of earth's wide heaven,
Shall rise, for as by Him 'tis writ,
Who to each sun its path has given.

And all with thine, each wheeling sphere
In ways harmonious on shall move;
Tracing with golden bounds the year
Of the Great Parent's endless love.