Great Is the Sun

The dusty attic spider-clad,

He, through the keyhole, maketh glad;

And through the broken edge of tiles,

Into the laddered hay-loft smiles.

Great is the sun, and wide he goes

Through empty heaven without repose;

And in the blue and glowing days

More thick than rain he showers his rays.

Though closer still the blinds we pull

To keep the shady parlour cool,

Yet he will find a chink or two

To slip his golden fingers through.

Great is the sun, and wide he goes

Through empty heaven without repose;

And in the blue and glowing days

More thick than rain he showers his rays.

Great is the sun, great is the sun.

Above the hills, along the blue,

Round the bright air with footing true,

To please the child, to paint the rose,

The gardener of the World, the gardener of the world he goes.

Great is the sun, and wide he goes

Through empty heaven without repose;

And in the blue and glowing days

More thick than rain he showers his rays.

Great is the sun, and wide he goes

Through empty heaven without repose;

And in the blue and glowing days.

Meantime his golden face around

He bares to all the garden ground,

And sheds a warm and glittering look

Among the ivy's inmost nook.

Great is the sun in the sky,

Great is the sun in the sky.