By Joseph Addison
he spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue ethereal sky,
And spangled heav'ns, a shining frame,
Their great original proclaim:
Th' unwearied Sun, from day to day,
Does his Creator's power display,
And publishes to every land
The work of an Almighty Hand.
Soon as the evening shades prevail,
The Moon takes up the wondrous tale,
And nightly to the list'ning Earth
Repeats the story of her birth:
Whilst all the stars that round her burn,
And all the planets, in their turn,
Confirm the tidings as they roll,
And spread the truth from pole to pole.
What though, in solemn silence, all
Move round the dark terrestrial ball?
What though nor real voice nor sound
Amid their radiant orbs be found?
In Reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice,
For ever singing, as they shine,
"The Hand that made us is Divine."
"The heavens declare the glory of God;
and the firmament showeth His handiwork. Day unto day uttereth speech, and night
unto night showeth knowledge. There is no speech nor language, where their voice
is not heard. Their line is gone out through all the earth, and their words to the
end of the world. In them hath He set a tabernacle for the sun, Which is as a bridegroom
coming out of his chamber, and rejoiceth as a strong man to run a race. His going
forth is from the end of the heaven, and His circuit unto the ends of it: and there
is nothing hid from the heat thereof."
~ Psalm 19:1-6 ~