The sun rides in through the golden gates
Of the east with a wealth of light,
And the smiles of gold on valley and wold
Are smiles from his countenance bright.
The flowers and hedges are dashed with dew,
And the birds with tuneful throats
Are flooding the air with melody rare,
In liquid silvery notes.
My beautiful child, may you go forth
Like the sun with a wealth of light,
And purer than gold on valley and wold
Be the smiles from your spirit bright!
Drop words as bright and kind as the dew,
And vie with the woodland throng;
From the heart's deep well let praises swell
In showers of grateful song.