Thomas Buchanan Read (1822–1872)

THY rise was as the morning, glorious, bright!

And Error vanished like the affrighted dark;

While many a soul, as the aspiring lark,

Waked by thy dawn soared singing to the light,

Drowning in gladdest song the earth’s despite!

And Beauty blossomed in all lowly nooks:

Love, like a river made of nameless brooks,

Grew and exulted in thy wakening sight:

All nature hailed thee as a risen sun;

Nor will thy setting blur her thankful eyes!

While earth remains thy day shall not be done,

Nor cloud dispread to blot thy matchless skies;—

When Death’s command, like Joshua’s, shall arise,

Thou ’lt stand as stood the Sun of Gibeon.