The 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 pow’r display; And publishes to ev’ry land The work of an Almighty hand. | Soon as the ev’ning shades prevail, The moon takes up the wondrous tale. And, nightly to the list’ning earth, Repeats the story of her birth; | 152 While 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 no real voice, nor sound, Amidst 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.’ | |