IX.

IX.

We children six our being had From a most strange and wondrous pair,-- Our mother ever grave and sad, Our father ever free from care.

Our virtues we from both receive,-- Meekness from her, from him our light; And so in endless youth we weave Round thee a circling figure bright.

We ever shun the caverns black, And revel in the glowing day; 'Tis we who light the world's dark track, With our life's clear and magic ray.

Spring's joyful harbingers are we, And her inspiring streams we swell; And so the house of death we flee, For life alone must round us dwell.

Without us is no perfect bliss, When man is glad, we, too, attend, And when a monarch worshipped is, To him our majesty attend.