Patrick Regan has kindly shared the material from his George Heath site with readers of the Victorian Web, who may wish to consult the original.

Slow creeps the light athwart the concave still,
Steals a low whisper on the breathless calm,
Bringing the scent of opening flowers, a balm;
Breaks o'er the earth a grand, a rapturous thrill,
The chant of waters and the song-bird's trill;
      The clouds fold up their curtains snowy white;
      The sleepy stars fade noiselessly from sight.
Bright Phoebus mounts above the crimson hill;
The sheeted mists like baffled hosts retire,
      Wan Zephyr comes to wanton with the flowers,
The stream meanders on, a string of fire,
      And light and music fill earth's sylvan bowers;
Bright dewdrops shine and tremble everywhere:
O Sceptic, look and blush, for God is there!

Last modified 3 September 2002