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 |