See Yonder Little Cloud, That, Borne Aloft

O Beautiful, Awful Summer Day, What Hast Thou Given, What Taken Away?

Torrent Of Light And River Of Air, Along Whose Bed The Glimmering Stars Are Seen, Like Gold And Silver Sands In Some Ravine Where Mountain Streams Have Left Their Channels Bare!

There's Nothing Fair Nor Beautiful, But Takes Something From Thee, That Makes It Beautiful.

The Greatest Grace Of A Gift, Perhaps, Is That It Anticipates And Admits Of No Return.

I Am The Angel Of The Sun Whose Flaming Wheels Began To Run When God's Almighty Breath Said To The Darkness And The Night, Let There Be Light! And There Was Light.