Thou that with fructifying heat and light, O’er myriad farms, o’er lands and waters North and South, O’er Mississippi’s endless course, o’er Texas’ grassy plains, Kanada’s woods, O’er all the globe that turns its face to thee shining in space, Thou that impartially infoldest all, not only continents, seas, Thou that to grapes and weeds and little wild flowers givest so liberally, Shed, shed thyself on mine and me, with but a fleeting ray out of thy million millions, Strike through these chants.

Nor only launch thy subtle dazzle and thy strength for these, Prepare the later afternoon of me myself⁠—prepare my lengthening shadows, Prepare my starry nights.