 | Mansoul or The Riddle of the World |  |
Oh joy! it is days morn. Those beams are His:
Sun cometh up, the heavens 'gin gather light.
Already a man might know his fellows face.
Slowly He rears his great-maned glorious head.
A moment paused, He seemeth to stretch himself;
And take on Him vast saffron royal robe;
All bordered with bright gold. Now soars he forth,
In heavens steep!
Sun cometh up, the heavens 'gin gather light.
Already a man might know his fellows face.
Slowly He rears his great-maned glorious head.
A moment paused, He seemeth to stretch himself;
And take on Him vast saffron royal robe;
All bordered with bright gold. Now soars he forth,
In heavens steep!
| Mansoul or The Riddle of the World | |