so, O  bland! when rul'd by thee,
The  obedient, and the  is free:
Soft are his , balmy is his ,
His  not boiling from the ;
Touch'd by  rosy Hand, he wakes,
Peaceful and calm; and with the World partakes
The joyful Dawnings of returning Day,
For which their grateful Thanks the whole Creation pay!
All but the ; 'Tis he alone
Whose Deeds of Darkness fly the rising Sun.