When Praise has found a thing to praise
He cannot whisper low,
But out must sing, and loudly shout,
Must spin and leap and whirl about,
Throw flowers up in air most high
And point his praises through the sky!
For Life has told him, “No,
You must not whisper low.”
Then let me point Florencia
Across the peerless sun!
The rays of Day are on their way
Top praise her “Number One!”