1 Thou, Sole from Sole, command'st the Sun
Round on the burning Axles run;
The Stars like Dust around him fly
And strew the Area of the Sky.
He drives so swift his Race above
That Mortals can't perceive him move;
So smooth his Couse, oblique or streight,
Olympus shakes not with his Weight.
2 As the fair Queen of solemn Night
Fills at the Vase her Orb of Light,
Imparted Lustre; thus we see
The solar Virtue shines by thee.
Eiresione we'll no more
Imaginary Power adore,
Since Oil and Wool and chearing wine
And Life-sustaining Bread are thine.
3 The fragrant Thyme, the bloomy rose,
Flower and Herb and Shrub that grows
Or on Thessalian Tempe's Plain,
Or where the rich Sabeans reagn;
That tret the Tast, or Smell, or Sight,
Fro Food, for Medecine, or Delight,
All planted by thy parent Care
Do spring and smile and flourish there.