From the pleasant haze of the morning mist
The col called out to the towering tor:
In your deep shade from the sun let me tryst
With the dews of the dawn who water my floor.

The tor replied with a deep sounding tone:
Nothing is hidden from the light of the sun.
He comes out of night’s tent to fly alone,
To enter the race daily which he must run.

How can I help you? He rides in the sky
Far over my head and the white clouds that fly.
His beams shall arrest and dry out the air,
The grass and the flowers that long for his care.

They are not without sun and dew replete
So let them their work now the light and rain do.
The years they pass, they are ready to fleet;
May this new one refresh: the Lord be with you.