When all the world is turned to gold,
More glorious than all that of kings of old,
When the sun dons its colors royal,
And demands that the earth be loyal,
So that all may turn to dark.
she sleeps with clouds as mattress soft,
in the heavenly, dark, deep loft.
The sunset rules anew each day,
Crowning all else in a marvelous way.
I sing the song of the sunset!
The Lord gave man the jewels of earth,
To beautify the soil that gives it worth.
But the lady in the heavens needs no stones,
She has no body, breath or bones.
Her thoughts are not like earth’s.
Only the wind, that brushes the cheek;
Tears of rain touching mountain peak.
Yet her raiment surpasses ours,
It becomes different through change of hours.
She crowns the day and begins the night.
In the morning she is pale,
With gentle breaths of wind that sail.
In the noon she turns to white,
Hot and harmful to our sight.
The Lord has given her a crown.
But in the evening, she turns into a queen,
With purple raiment, like none we have seen.
With gold as her crown,
While she slowly sinks down,
Gracefully as if in dance.
She sinks into her pillow of cloud,
That is neither rough nor loud.
She folds herself in velvet sleep,
And leaves the moon its watch to keep.
So the sun ends the day.
And as we watch the moon take flight,
To give us still a little sight,
We sink upon our bended knees,
And thanks the Lord for all of these;
His glorious creations.
--Chandler Hamby
