s with
which people in general regard the divinest wonders of the creation, in
consequence of being used to their society--this great and glorious
mystery, the Sun, not excepted. "Familiarity," it is said, "breeds
contempt." To which somebody emphatically added, "With the
contemptible." I am far from meaning to say that all who behold the Sun
with too little thought are contemptible. Habit does strange things,
even with the most reflecting. But of this I am sure, that in proportion
as any body wishes to prove himself worthy of his familiarity with great
objects, he will not be sorry to be reminded of their greatness,
especially as reverence need not diminish delight; for a heavenly
"Father" can no more desire the admiration of him to be oppressive to
us, than an earthly one; else fatherliness would be unfatherly, and
sunshine itself a gloom.

When the Florentines crowded to some lectures of Galileo, because they
were on a comet which had just made its appearance, the philosopher was
bold enough to rebuke them for showing such a childish desire to hear
him on this particular subject, when they were in the habit of
neglecting the marvels of creation which daily presented themselves to
their eyes.

ODE TO THE SUN.

Presence divine! Great lord of this our sphere!
Bringer of light, and life, and joy, and beauty--
God midst a million gods, that far and near
Hold each his orbs in rounds of rapturous duty;[A]
Oh, never may I, while I lift this brow,
Believe in any god _less_ like a god than thou.

Thou art the mightiest of all things we see,
And thou, the mightiest, art among the kindest;
The planets, dreadfully and easily,
About thee, as in sacred sport, thou windest;
And thine illustrious hands, for all that power,
Light soft on the babe's cheek, and nurse the budding flower.

They say that in thine orb is movement dire,
Tempest and flame, as on a million oceans:
Well may it be, thou heart of heavenly fire;
Such looks and smiles befit a god's emotions,
We know thee gentle in the midst of all,
By those smooth orbs in heaven, this sweet fruit on the wall.

I feel thee, here, myself, soft on my hand;
Around me is thy mute, celestial presence,
Reverence and awe would make me fear to stand
Within thy beam, were not all Good its essence:
Were not all Good its essence, and