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| Lo! in the orient when the gracious light | 1 |
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| Lifts up his burning head, each under eye |
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| Doth homage to his new-appearing sight, |
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| Serving with looks his sacred majesty; |
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| And having climb'd the steep-up heavenly hill, | 5 |
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| Resembling strong youth in his middle age, |
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| Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still, |
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| Attending on his golden pilgrimage: |
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| But when from highmost pitch, with weary car, |
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| Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day, | 10 |
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| The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are |
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| From his low tract, and look another way: |
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 So thou, thyself outgoing in thy noon: |
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| Unlook'd, on diest unless thou get a son. |
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