THE glorious sun
His race has run,
And ere he sinks from sight,
Array'd in gold,
Fold upon fold,
He bids the world good-night;
And sea and sky
Commingled lie
In nameless colors dyed —
The molten mass
A sea of glass
In purple glorified.

And still, anon,
Temple and throne,
And tow'rs of amethyst,
And halls of blue
Heave into view
In islands of the blest.
A spirit fills
The great old hills —
The monarchs old and hoary:
They nearer draw
In joy and awe
To gaze upon the glory.

And now I stand
In Wonderland,
Imbibing at each pore
The soul's pure wine —
With joy divine
My spirit's running o'er;
But, oh, despite
The weary night
That on my heart hath lain,
This glorious sight
Of pure delight
Revives my soul again!

All trifles, all,
The mean and small,
Are from my spirit fleeing;
Thoughts great and grand
Lift and expand,
And broaden out my being;
While waves of song
Tumultuous throng,
And through my spirit roll,
Oh, could I shout
The lyric out
That's surging in my soul!