The Consolation of Philosophy

Sweet Homer¹ sings the praise

Of Phoebus clear and bright,

And yet his strongest rays

Cannot with feeble light

Cast through the secret ways

Of earth and seas his sight,

Though 'all lies open to his eyes.'²

But He who did this world devise—

The earth's vast depths unseen

From his sight are not free,

No clouds can stand between,

He at one time doth see

What are, and what have been,

And what shall after be.

Whom, since he only vieweth all,

You rightly the true Sun may call."