- Lo! in the orient when the gracious light
- Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
- Doth homage to his new-appearing sight,
- Serving with looks his sacred majesty;
- And having climb’d the steep-up heavenly hill,
- Resembling strong youth in his middle age,
- Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,
- Attending on his golden pilgrimage:
- But when from highmost pitch, with weary car,
- Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day,
- The eyes, ’fore duteous, now converted are
- From his low tract, and look another way:
- So thou, thyself outgoing in thy noon:
- Unlook’d, on diest unless thou get a son.