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24 Omens of seasons glad and fair, Bright signals in the heav’n displayed, Scattered like hail-stones every where, Like hail-stones of the sun-beams made! Those golden treasures of the sky, Grand coinage of the Deity; Those chess-men clearly marked on high, On the broad chess-board of the sky.
 * Tiara of heav’n’s summit blue,

Far wandering pavilions—you Till yester eve I never knew! Praise to the gorgeous splendours! praise To the red flow’rs that deck heav’n’s ways! Praise to the splendour that they gave, (Those golden works!) the bard to save. Those holy tapers pure and bright, Conspicuous raised on yonder height, The heav’ns—God’s noblest work—to light! Beads for repentant sinner’s hand, Brightly suspended—without band! O’er ev’ning’s broad grey sky they blaze, Like Camlan’s hosts in ancient days! Studs in the welkin’s pillars driv’n— Seeds that have floated up to heav’n. In vain the blast of night aspires To quench those bright aërial fires; In vain their citadels to climb, In all its wanderings sublime!