Classic Poem

By whose appointment does the sun
His morning beams display?
Tell; does he by thy orders run,
And spread the world with day?

By whose contrivance, so exact,
Springs up the shining light,
To lengthen out, or to retract,
The time of day and night!

Who bids it late or ear' arise,
At distance far or near,
Right to divide and signalize
The seasons of the year?

With wings so speedy did thy care
Provide the dawning ray,
That it through deeps immense of air,
So swift might make its way;

That in a trice might be fulfill'd
Its fore-appointed race,
And that it might with lustre gild
The earth's remotest face.

Presenting all things fair to sight
That lay with shades oppress'd,
New stamp'd as with a seal, in light
As with a garment drest;

Light which by minds, where virtue dwells,
Is peaceably enjoy'd;
But which obnoxious criminals
With panic fear avoid:

For, if detected by its beams,
The guilty wretches know,
They, must the death their conscience deems
They merit, undergo.

With lifted arms 'gainst heav'n they fought,
But thence the rays on wing
Pursue the rebels close, till brought
To punishment condign.

Whence come these messengers of light,
To chase the wicked crew,
And chain them fast with fear and fright,
Are they dispatch'd by you?