Classic Poem

PETITION TO THE SUN

O P HoeBUS , may I ask a boon,
For those that till the soil;
The worthiest part of human kind,
The humble sons of toil.

It is, that when through Night's dark shades,
Thy opening splendors break;
Thy brightest, warmest beams may shine,
Wherever there's a Wake.

These days but seldom come to bring
To them their annual glee;
O bless them, and the eve shall close
With songs of praise to thee.

And Love, who likes to see old Night
Her ebon curtains spread,
Intreats, that on the coming morn,
Thy steeds lie long abed.

All Britain's every patron saint,
Shall join his wish to mine,
That endless youth — a glorious course,
A Giant's joy be thine.

Now wearied Health sat down to rest,
Even Mirth reclined her limbs,
And Gayton's annual festal day
Is closed — with all its whims.

Thus passes Life — a lengthened Day,
No power can time retard;
Where busy Tyre was life and glee,
Now not a voice is heard.