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I have not a doubt but he,Whosoe'er the man might be,Who the first with pointed rays,(Workman worthy to be sainted)Set the Sign-board in a blaze,When the risen sun he painted,Took the fancy from a glanceAt thy glittering countenance.
Soon as gentle breezes bringNews of winter's vanishing,And the children build their bowers,Sticking 'kerchief-plots of moldAll about with full-blown flowers,Thick as sheep in shepherd's fold!With the proudest Thou art there,Mantling in the tiny square.
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