The spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue æthereal sky,
And spangled heavens, a shining frame,
Their great Original proclaim:
Th’ unwearied Sun, from day to day,
Does his Creator’s pow’r display,
And publishes to every land
The work of an Almighty Hand.
Soon as the ev’ning shades prevail,
The Moon takes up the wond’rous 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.
From: Green, George Washington (ed.), The Works of Joseph Addison, including the whole contents of BP. Hurd’s edition, with letters and other pieces not found in any previous collection; and Macaulay’s essay on his life and works, in Six Volumes, Volume 1, 1870, J P Lippincott & Co: Philadelphia, pp. 202-203.
(http://books.google.com.au/books?id=GSyQTxeR3ZUC)
Date: 1712
By: Joseph Addison (1672-1719)
From Troubles of The World 