Our Sun beats down, its rays so strong,
It heats this earth, where we belong,
Ripening to gold the waving corn,
Rising up high to start the morn.
Its sunshine pleasures all it greets,
And brightens so, our darkest streets.
With warmth it transforms a frosty day,
And bright beams sweep the gloom away.
Oh, ball of fire, shine radiant for me,
And all your famed glory, let me see.
©   Ernestine Northover