The king of day rides on, <br />To give the placid morning birth; <br />On wheels of glory moves his throne, <br />Whose light adorns the earth. <br /> <br />When once his limpid maid <br />Has the imperial course begun, <br />The lark deserts the dusky glade, <br />And soars to meet the sun. <br /> <br />Up from the orient deep, <br />Aurora mounts without delay, <br />With brooms of light the plains to sweep, <br />And purge the gloom away. <br /> <br />Ye ghostly scenes give way, <br />Our king is coming now in sight, <br />Bearing the diadem of day, <br />Whose crest expels the night. <br /> <br />Thus we, like birds, retreat <br />To groves, and hide from ev'ry eye; <br />Our slumb'ring dust will rise and meet <br />Its morning in the sky. <br /> <br />The immaterial sun, <br />Now hid within empyreal gloom, <br />Will break forth on a brighter throne, <br />And call us from the tomb.<br /><br />George Moses Horton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-rising-sun-6/
