The spa-cious fir-ma-ment on high,
With all the blue e-the-real sky,
And span-gled heavens, a shin-ing frame,
Their great O-rig-i-nal pro-claim.
Th'un-wea-ried sun, from day to day,
Does his Cre-a-tor's power dis-play,
And pub-lish-es to ev-ery land
The work of an al-might-y hand.
Soon as the eve-ning shades pre-vail,
The moon takes up the won-drous tale,
And night-ly to the lis-tening earth
Re-peats the sto-ry of her birth;
Whilst all the stars that round her burn,
And all the plan-ets in their turn,
Con-firm the tid-ings as they roll,
And spread the truth from pole to pole.
What though in sol-emn si-lence all
Move round this dark ter-res-trial ball?
What though no re-al voice nor sound
A-midst their ra-diant orbs be found?
In rea-son's ear they all re-joice,
And ut-ter forth a glo-rious voice;
For-ev-er sing-ing as they shine,
"The hand that made us is di-vine."