By slow degrees it dies away;
Whilst jocund comes returning Day,
From out his chamber in the east,
Fresh as a bridegroom newly dress'd,
Chasing Midnight, thick and dark,
Usher'd by his hearld (sic) lark;
Nature wears again her smile,
And labour stalks forth to his toil;
Fragrance breathes, and perfumes sweet
Th'exhilerated senses meet:
All, all is joy and gay delight,
When day succeeds to fearful night.

'Tis thus in all his dealings still,
The God of Nature speaks his will,
And never threatens but to save,
And awe that wretch who dares to brave
That power, which only with a thought,
Could make him vanish into nought;
And having chasten'd, will forgive,
If he return, and bid him live
To fairer joys and brighter skies
Where neither storms nor tempests rise -
The everlasting, bright abode
Of an all-righteous, bounteous God.