11,11,11,9

How fine has the day been! how bright was the sun!

How lovely and joyful the course that he run;

Though he rose in a mist when his race he begun,

And there followed some droppings of rain:

But now the fair traveller's come to the west,

His rays are all gold, and his beauties are best;

He paints the skies gay as he sinks to his rest,

And foretells a bright rising again.

Just such is the Christian. His course he begins

Like the sun in a mist, while he mourns for his sins,

And melts into tears! then he breaks out and shines,

And travels his heavenly way:

But when he comes nearer to finish his race,

Like a fine setting sun, he looks richer in grace;

And gives a sure hope, at the end of his days,

Of rising in brighter array.