Hymn
THE spacious firmament on high,With all the blue ethereal sky,And spangled heavens (a shining frame!)Their great Original proclaim,The unwearied sun from day to dayDoth his Creator’s power display,And publisheth to every landThe work of an almighty hand.
Soon as the evening shades prevail,The moon takes up the wondrous tale,And nightly to the listening earthRepeats 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 allMove round this dark terrestrial ball?What though no real voice nor soundAmid 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.’
ALEXANDER POPE 1688–1744